Harry Silvertongue
by butalearner
Summary: Ten-year-old Harry Potter meets a kindred soul in secret who changes his whole outlook on his life with the Dursleys. Burned into Harry's mind with the violent death of his only friend, the lessons imparted guide him through his time at Hogwarts. AU, Slytherin!Harry.
1. Lesson 01: Bullies

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and plots belong to JK Rowling.

Preface: Another new story?

So this is my take on Slytherin!Harry. I know what you're thinking: it's been done before, and probably better than I can do it. But there's a lot of possibility for expansion and innovation even within a common theme, and hopefully I can put together an interesting rendition of it. If you've read _A Curse of Truth_ (you should!), you'll have found that possibly the most interesting character in that story is Daphne. I very much enjoyed writing her, so a Slytherin!Harry story lets me play with a number of other similarly cunning and nuanced characters.

Also, in a break from my previous writing style, I thought I might try a more serial writing style like most of the stories around here. This means much longer delays between less-polished chapters, because I typically make several passes for proofreading and improvements. To give you an example, I wrote 150k words of _ACoT_ over four months before I started posting it, and the early chapters were revised or added to probably a dozen times or more. This time, however, I only have half of chapter two written.

Summary: Ten-year-old Harry Potter meets a kindred soul in secret who changes his whole outlook on his life with the Dursleys. Burned into Harry's mind with the violent death of his only friend, the lessons imparted guide him through his time at Hogwarts.

* * *

**Harry Silvertongue**

**Lesson One: Bullies**

* * *

"_Bullies come in all different sizes, Harry."_

"_I know, my uncle is huge and my aunt is thin as a rail."_

"_No, I mean there are different kinds of bully, and sometimes the best way to deal with one is not the way to deal with another."_

"_Well, why didn't you say that in the first place?"_

"_Shut up, Harry."_

* * *

"Hey kid," a voice said from behind a small ten-year-old sitting on the only functional swing on the rusted, decrepit playground. The chains had snapped on the other ones when the neighborhood bullies had kicked him off and taken over the swings. Luckily he was long gone before he had let his delighted laughter bubble up at the memory of the larger boys flailing around in anger at the swings.

At the mostly unexpected sound of the emotionless voice the ten-year-old froze, jamming his toes into the deep crevasses in the dirt – eroded from decades of swinging children – so he could stop its slight, ponderous movement. He had seen the clearly older boy coming, of course, and quickly discarded his initial concern that it might be one of his usual tormentors. Over the next two minutes afterward he had stolen a few more secretive glances over his shoulder, making and refining observations as he went. After all, being unaware of one's surroundings was a rather bad idea at his relatives' house.

The approaching boy was significantly taller than himself. His own height was certainly at the lower end of the curve, but someone with the height and build of the other boy had to be several years older. The faint outline of stubble, once he had drawn closer, supported that observation. He walked softly and with a certain kind of grace; certainly a far cry from the rampaging stomps of the usual bullies. That meant that this boy...or man, even, was potentially an even bigger threat. The younger boy had hoped the older one was simply passing through, but of course that would imply the younger was at all lucky. He really should know better by now.

"Your name's Harry, right?"

Well, that was new. He had forgotten to hide his surprise, but luckily he was still facing away from the newcomer until he could replace his blank expression. When he turned, he adjusted the man's age to his upper teens, height slightly greater than Uncle Vernon but probably a third of the weight. The white tee and jeans only didn't hide the lean, wiry frame underneath, though it didn't hide the facial or the upper arm bruises. "Harry Potter," the younger boy said neutrally.

"I'm Will," the man replied. "It's nice to meet you finally, Harry."

Harry's eyebrows lifted above his taped, round glasses at that. "Finally?"

Will nodded and looked toward the Dursley's house. "I understand some of what you're going through. I watched you get bullied the other day by the one who lives with you, and then I followed you home to see you get in trouble for it."

Harry felt a twinge of anger and annoyance at that, but what could he do? He just suppressed it and nodded.

"It occurred to me that I had an older stepsister that helped me out when she could, and she would be angry with me if I didn't pass on the favor," Will continued. Harry looked up to find the teen's eyes distant for several moments until he shook himself back to the present, then he looked back at the younger boy. "If you want, that is."

Harry turned his face away when he felt burning tears spring up to his eyes. He'd long since given up hope that someone would help him - that someone other than the snakes that he had befriended that only provided a listening ear. Or however it was that snakes heard him. And now here was some stranger, someone supposedly like himself, offering to place himself in that very role. It had to be a trick. "No thanks," he said, then he stood from the swing and ran away as fast as he could.

He didn't see Will smile sadly and nod to himself.

* * *

Harry woke up sweating and crying from that dream again, and his current companion, a small garden snake that was curled on his stomach, slithered away to burrow into the pile of dirt he kept hidden behind a broken shelf. Harry liked it better when his friends hid there instead of slipping out in the hole in the corner, which he figured must somehow lead under the house where they could hunt. Thankfully both places were hidden where none of the Dursleys would find it...not that anyone but his aunt could fit in here, and it suited Harry just fine that she pretended the cupboard under the stairs didn't exist. He was furious at himself, though, for waking up in tears again when he'd be going away to school later this morning. He was furious at himself for running away from Will the first time they met, despite the older, wiser boy's insistence that it was the wise thing to do. Harry saw the sense in that at the time, but now it just meant their time together had been even shorter. To be fair, Will couldn't have known that he was going to die.

Harry violently shoved away the image of the covered stretcher being rolled out of Will's house shortly before his disheveled, balding, heavyset, and handcuffed father. He had been used to getting nothing for his birthday, but having his only friend taken away the day before made it the worst birthday ever. In retrospect, it _should_ have been happier, because only a few days earlier he had successfully hidden away the very first letter he'd ever gotten, though when he showed it to Will, the older boy had convinced him it couldn't be real. Between the mentions of a wand, cauldron, and owls and the ridiculous names, it did seem ridiculous and Harry had felt foolish.

He had felt foolish indeed until the day after Will died and Hagrid showed up. Then Harry had cried almost every night in August – safely in his cupboard where his relatives wouldn't see him, of course – that Will hadn't been able to see what Harry had seen in Diagon Alley. He dreamed of their first meeting at the swings, of their later meetings up in trees where Dudley and his gang never went, of the older boy's almost never-ending stream of advice. Said advice had improved his stay at the Dursleys immensely; once Harry had adequately explained that sometimes strange things happened around him and that they literally blamed him for everything, Will had finally laid off the pranking advice and started thinking seriously about avoiding those situations.

Harry had been too scared to try and convince them to let him move into Dudley's second bedroom, but the steps he had taken to minimize the opportunities they had to get angry by acting meek and increase his food stores without arousing suspicion had been quite successful. Harry had already developed his awareness from years of avoiding bullies, but Will said to use that awareness to not only be as unobtrusive as possible, but to look for body language and listen for tone of voice to get a sense of what people were going to do.

Many of his early lessons were like that: seemingly obvious bits of knowledge that Harry instinctively understood as soon as the lesson was imparted, but frustratingly he never came up with those things himself. It wasn't until the past few weeks – after Will was gone and Harry had begun going over their talks in his head – that he started to understand the greater lesson: to be resourceful, street-wise...to avoid trouble where it's possible, and to redirect anger where it's not.

Pushing those lessons aside for the moment, Harry stood and began his morning routine. It was different today, though. He breezed through each of his chores with excitement, a level of anticipation that had never affected him even when he was looking forward to taking off and meeting Will. He had approached his uncle after dessert the previous night, when Vernon was the most pleasant – or least abrasive, anyway – and secured a ride to King's Cross Station for the trip to Hogwarts. He wasn't terribly sad to leave the garden snake behind; he had long since learned that getting attached to a snake was a bad idea with his uncle around, so he hadn't even named the creature. In any case it was rather lazy and didn't understand why Harry didn't just eat his relatives.

Vernon hadn't said a word to Harry all morning, and the whole family ended up piling into the car so as not to waste a trip to London. The car listed comically to one side as Vernon and Dudley both weighed down the driver's side, though Harry made sure to avoid reacting or drawing attention to himself in any way. That was quite an accomplishment in Harry's mind, since he felt an urge to bounce his leg with anxiety. He actually used his memories of Will to tamp down his enthusiasm and simply watch the suburban landscape around Little Whinging transform into the dense London metropolis.

Without so much as a word, the Dursleys left Harry standing alone outside the train station. He secured a luggage trolley and, just as Will had predicted, found no trace of a Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Harry moved his trolley against one of the pillars between Platforms Nine and Ten and sat on his trunk, glancing around to the other travelers while pondering this issue. He wasn't surprised that nobody from Hogwarts had arranged an escort or even a description of how to reach the place; one of Will's earliest lessons was that adults are pretty much useless. Well, that one wasn't a lesson per se, but he had muttered it on more than one occasion and it fit rather well with Harry's experience.

As he sat he noticed that none of the other travelers had a cage with an owl in it. Hedwig had been a present from Hagrid – Harry's first real birthday present, in fact – and though she didn't think much of his friendship with the garden snake, he thought she was just jealous that it could speak back to him. Hedwig actually seemed more intelligent despite their lack of verbal communication, judging by the way she seemed to listen intently when he spoke to the snake. So he had taken to speaking to her as well.

"Any hints, girl?" His fingers were slim enough that they could slip in and stroke her feathers a bit, which she rewarded as usual with a light nip of her beak. Harry relished the affection; he liked to think she was giving him a kiss. Dudley hated when his mother kissed him, but Dudley was also an idiot. On this occasion, Harry imagined she was telling him to be patient, which was, perhaps unsurprisingly, exactly what Will would have said. Sooner or later some hint or perhaps even another student would be along.

He didn't have to wait long. His ears perked up at the word 'Muggle' and immediately tracked it to a family of oddly dressed redheads moving almost perpendicular to his line of sight. He slowly slid over such that Hedwig would be hidden from their view as much as possible, so long as they kept on their current path. He wasn't looking directly at them, but he noted a few glances in his direction. His observations were inconclusive. Just because they seemed happy and were not dressed as richly as that rude, blonde-haired boy he had met in Madam Malkin's a month ago didn't mean they were friendly. He started when the twins disappeared through the pillar, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure he didn't imagine it. He jumped up and peeked around the other side of the pillar nearest him to make sure they weren't over there. Coming back around the corner he saw the two other boys, one older and one perhaps as young as Harry, disappear as well, followed quickly by the mother and daughter, neither of whom had their own trolley.

Giving them a solid ten count in his head, he moved his cart into position. A wave of anticipation washed over him as he realized what he was about to do, so he couldn't stop himself from breaking into a run like most of the redheaded family had. He forced down the surge of panic that screamed at him to stop before he rammed the barrier, though he had to close his eyes. Suddenly the sounds and smells changed, and he opened his eyes to find the sights completely different as well. It was like he had traveled back in time; gone was the modern-looking station with open steel and glass architecture and sleek diesel hulls, replaced by gothic stone arches, a barrel-shaped steam engine and boxy passenger cars. Judging by the number of faces in the passenger car windows and the relative dearth of similar faces on the platform, Harry figured he had better get moving despite his wariness of wading through such a crowd.

Fighting through the awareness overload, he made his way to a less crowded entrance and began to unload his trolley when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Can we help you with that, mate?"

Harry jumped slightly and then froze, getting ready to run at the slightest hint of danger. Then, realizing his overreaction, blushed and turned to the voice to find the redheaded twins standing there. "You don't have to..."

"Eh, mum's watching," one said, jerking his head over his shoulder to indicate her approximate position. Sure enough, she was, though she was dividing her attention between the twins and fussing over the youngest boy. "She saw you alone and..." Harry noted his eyes flicker to his over-sized clothing before he trailed off.

"...thought you could use the help," the other twin finished. "I'm George, by the way."

"Fred," the first one said.

"Harry."

The twins looked at each other a moment, then shrugged in unison. "Nice to meet you, Harry," Fred said.

"Best get a move on, though," George said, then grinned. "Mum didn't like it much back in our first year when we jumped on the train after it started moving."

"We didn't have a choice! It's not like we could miss it," Fred argued.

"Of course, just because we jumped off right beforehand..."

The twins continued to argue and banter playfully as they picked up Harry's trunk and boarded the train, leaving the flabbergasted boy with only Hedwig. He couldn't remember meeting such jovial people before. Everybody at his old school was terrified of Dudley and his gang, so they were never this nice to him. Will was friendly, but he was definitely not a happy person. It was a new experience for Harry, and as a result he wasn't sure what to make of the two redheads. He decided all he could do continue to observe them. Will had given plenty of advice on what to do with bullies, but he hadn't told Harry how to make friends...at least not ones that weren't bullied.

He grabbed his owl and hopped onto the train to follow the twins.

* * *

"I'm Ron, by the way," the youngest redhead brother said after he joined Harry, claiming the other compartments were full. "Ron Weasley."

"Harry." He didn't want to say his last name after what happened at Diagon Alley a month ago. On top of that he was quite uncomfortable, being stuck in a compartment one-on-one with someone he knew too little about. The brothers were nice enough, but familial connections are definitely not enough to assume similar personalities. After all, there was no way Harry's mother was as horrible as his aunt.

"So this is your first year? Mine, too." When Harry didn't respond, Ron just continued talking. "My brothers have all been here, though Bill's been done for over two years and Charlie just graduated a few months ago. Then there's Percy, he's a Prefect this year, of course, and you know Fred and George. I'm the last one except for my sister Ginny...you saw her with my mum. She'll be here next year."

Harry didn't really know how to respond to that, so he just nodded. Ron must have taken that as a signal to keep going on about his family, though Harry couldn't figure out why the redhead was revealing so much. The way he spoke about his brothers – his voice inflections and tone – indicated he didn't have much in the way of self-esteem. It seemed odd that Harry would meet somebody that used to have such similar issues he had had just a few months earlier, before Will had helped. Harry wondered if he should help the same way, but the circumstances behind the issue might be completely different. Ron didn't seem to hate his brothers as Harry had hated his relatives, so he'd just have to find out if the redhead met the conditions Will had given for people that deserved help. But how?

"Do you have any brothers or sisters that came here?"

Harry was surprised, apparently the other boy had figured out that they can't have a conversation if he just keeps talking all by himself. "No," Harry said. When he noticed Ron looking decidedly uncomfortable, probably regretting the decision to sit here, Harry decided to give him a little more. "I didn't know I was a wizard until a month ago."

"Oh," Ron said, his face lighting up. "So your parents are Muggles? What was that—"

"No, my parents are dead," Harry cut in.

Ron flinched and paled. "Oh...s-sorry, mate..."

"They were killed when I was a baby," Harry offered, feeling sorry about making it worse. "I don't remember them, but they both went to Hogwarts."

Ron furrowed his brows. "Then how come you didn't know about magic?"

"My relatives don't like magic," Harry said darkly, "they lied to me...about everything."

"Oh...uh, sorry," Ron stammered, quickly looking away and voice wavering slightly in fear. Yep, he was definitely regretting his decision to sit with Harry now.

"Not your fault," Harry said quickly. "Don't apologize for something you have no control over."

"Sorry..."

Harry resisted the urge to slap his forehead and groan in frustration. He realized Will's lessons about guilt don't really work without context. "Don't worry about it." Frowning, he realized Ron was taking his neutral tone as hostile, so he softened his voice. "Really, don't worry about it. I would rather not to talk about my past, if that's okay. Can you tell me about the Houses? I've only talked to one other student about Hogwarts, and I didn't really trust him."

Ron's face lit up once again and he launched into the virtues of Gryffindor and the evils of Slytherin, with only passing mentions of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Neither student he had met at that point thought much of the latter, but Harry wasn't about to base his opinion on either of them. They both mentioned about some kind of sorting process but implied they had no control over it. So how, exactly, did each house maintain reputations for different attributes if the students themselves had no control over where they went? Did their House represent their already present traits, or did their House change them through the influence of their peers? Was there a difference?

A knock on the door preceded the snack trolley lady offering a wide selection of wizarding treats. Harry was about to ask about something more substantial – he was well aware of the effect chocolate can have on an empty stomach – but Ron's envious eyes as he held up a delicious-looking sandwich made him change his mind. Unfortunately Will hadn't been around when Harry found out his parents left him a bunch of money, but he had the sense he could use this to his advantage. So he bought a wide assortment of the treats and immediately offered to share if he could have the sandwich, a deal that, if Ron's face was any indication, cemented their friendship forever. Or at least until someone else offered him candy.

Ron was in the middle of both trying to explain a magic spell his brothers had taught him and eating some odd-looking confection when suddenly the door to the compartment crashed open. Harry immediately dropped to a crouch, hand in his pocket, fingering the rusty pocket knife he and Will had found earlier this summer. The fake wood finish on one side was cracked and bleached from the sun, and it was completely missing from the other side, exposing the pins that had dug into Harry's finger so many times, as they did just then. The blade edge itself was still somewhat sharp, and being a folding blade it had been protected from the elements, so it still looked dangerous. Harry had practiced with it enough that he could open it with one hand.

Despite the rather harmless-looking girl on the other side, Harry still cursed the train for being set up such that he couldn't follow Will's advice about escape routes. She flinched backward at Harry's gaze, hardened with Will's advice about intimidation. "H-have either of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one," the girl said shakily.

Harry cursed himself for being frightened so easily. "Sorry," he said roughly, but then he remembered the trick of his previous conversation: using a softer voice. "You opened the door pretty hard." He had considered saying that she scared him when she did that to make it sound even softer, but that would be admitting weakness...not a wise decision if you don't know the people within earshot.

"Sorry, I-I didn't mean to..." she began, but Ron swallowed roughly, drawing her attention. Her brown eyes widened when she saw the wand. "Oh! Were you going to do magic? Let's see it then."

The bossiness in the girl's voice set Harry on edge, setting off his bully alarm despite the small stature of the person behind that voice. His jaw clenched tight as he watched the girl closely, his instincts at war with each other.

Apparently unaware of the mental tension in his new friend, Ron cleared his throat. "_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow. Turn this stupid fat rat yellow._" He waved his wand wildly at the creature as he completely the incantation.

The girl crossed her arms at the failure of Ron's supposed spell to have any effect on the rat - or indeed, any effect at all. "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it?"

Harry couldn't take it anymore, and in that moment the dissonant observations in his head crystallized into a reasonable picture of the girl's behavior and a plan of action. Here, oddly enough, was a bully who could be easily intimidated. So he sprung to his feet to a spot right in front of the girl, who squeaked and jumped back. "We have not seen the toad, and I would appreciate it if you stopped bullying my friend. Good day."

The look of horror on the girl's face when Harry closed the door did not bring him any satisfaction. In fact, it looked like she was going to cry, and he felt like a bully himself. But wasn't she pushing Ron to do something he was clearly uncomfortable doing? Didn't she mock him when he failed?

Harry had not encountered such a complex situation before, so he sat, frowning, barely acknowledging his apparently new friend's efforts to reengage him in conversation. How could he have handled that better? Clearly the amount of contact he had with her wasn't enough to judge her character accurately. On the other hand, he couldn't just sit back while she insulted Ron, who had as good as admitted his self-esteem issues on multiple occasions already.

"_There are different kinds of bully, and sometimes the best way to deal with one is not the way to deal with another."_

Will's advice echoed in his mind. Harry had thought he already considered that when he stood up to the girl, since obviously that would never have worked with his relatives, or Will's dad. But her face...Harry thought perhaps what he had done was indeed correct. She seemed horrified when he pointed out she was being a bully, as if she didn't know what she was doing. He thought perhaps there is a difference between being a bully and bullying someone.

With that thought, he stood and opened the door with the intention of looking for the girl to apologize. Before he got too far, the door to the girl's loo slid open, and he found himself face-to-face with the clearly distraught girl. At her look of surprise he flushed with embarrassment and looked down at his feet.

"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time, then in unison they both look up in surprise.

"I shouldn't have said what I said," Harry said quickly.

"N-no, you were right," the girl said, looking down, "From what I've gone through all this time I should have realized...well, I have no excuse. Do you think—I mean, I need to apologize." She started to head back to Harry's compartment but stopped and spun back toward him. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"Harry," he replied, taking her proffered hand in surprise. He'd never met a bully that honestly wanted to apologize before. He decided that there was indeed a difference between acting like a bully and actually being one, and he resolved to be more careful with such accusations in the future.

* * *

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall called in a voice that seemed disproportionately loud to Harry. Whispers immediately exploded all over the hall around him, and he steadfastly ignored the gaping looks from his new classmates as he stepped forward.

A sense of danger radiated from a spot off to his left, drawing his eyes to a sallow-faced, black-haired man in pitch black robes, glaring at Harry with beady eyes. Will's advice to not show any fear or weakness sprang to the front of Harry's mind and froze his face in its blank expression. He held the angry professor's gaze for a brief moment – long enough that he wouldn't think Harry was frightened – then turned his eyes back to the waiting Professor McGonagall. He resisted frowning at her lack of expression and slid his eyes to the aged headmaster, who was smiling at him. He returned the smile just before turning and sitting on the stool for the Sorting. The mass of wide-eyed stares and continued whispers threatened to overwhelm him, but he recalled advice – not Will's for once, but he couldn't remember where he'd heard it – to look above the audience.

"Hmm, difficult," said a small voice in his ear once Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on his head. "Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Harry sat still, quickly overcoming the initial shock at the voice in his head and waiting for it to make a decision. Idly he wondered which House would be best for him in the long run.

"Best for you? Even I cannot see that," the Hat said in his mind, making his eyebrows jump in surprise. "You have the traits to succeed in any House, but in particular I see the ambition that's even greater than the thirst to prove yourself. A lofty but very worthwhile goal, I assure you, and Slytherin will help you on the way to that greatness; there's no doubt about that."

Slytherin would be acceptable, he thought in his head.

"No need to shout, Mr. Potter...Slytherin is a curious choice for you indeed," the Hat said in an amused tone. "I look forward to hearing of your exploits." Before Harry could ask what he meant, the Hat yelled to the rest of the Hall. "SLYTHERIN!"

The silence in the Hall was deafening.

Harry couldn't decide whether it was preferable to the whispers or not, but he stood up and walked quickly over to the Slytherin table. Some of the students were still gaping, some appeared to be glaring at him almost as hatefully as the professor he had spotted earlier. Thankfully the First Years sat closer to the Head Table, so he didn't have to go far, but of course it was just his luck that the two students on the end, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson, were both glaring at him. He chose to sit by Nott since that side of the table backed up against the wall, meaning he could keep an eye on almost everybody. Draco Malfoy, the boy who Harry had met briefly in Madam Malkin's, must have recognized Harry and gave him a nod from the seat next to Parkinson. Daphne Greengrass was sitting on the other side of Nott. Harry wished Nott had sat on the other side, though he probably would have been too shy to speak to the raven-haired, ice-blue-eyed girl.

"Who said you could sit here, Potter?" Nott practically spat when he whispered, once the Sorting and whispers had started up again.

"Pretty sure the Sorting Hat did, Nott," Harry replied coolly. He was sitting far enough away that he'd be able to see if the strangely angry boy would attack.

"Shut up, Nott," Malfoy cut him off, surprising Harry. It surprised several of the other first years within earshot as well.

"But—"

"Later," Malfoy said firmly, holding Harry's eyes for an extended moment before turning back to watch the remainder of the Sorting. Lisa Turpin eyed him curiously as she made her way to the Ravenclaw table, and then Blaise Zabini sat across from Harry.

Harry took the opportunity before the speech to glance at each of his new classmates. The dark-skinned Zabini seemed uninterested in engaging anyone in conversation, though Harry noticed him shoot occasional looks toward Greengrass and Davis, as if he were checking up on them. Harry thought perhaps they knew each other. Pale-skinned, brown-haired Parkinson was chatting familiarly with Malfoy; her cruel face looked strange with a smile. The pointy-faced, light blonde Malfoy seemed almost bored by her, though. On the other side of Malfoy, Gregory Goyle and then Vincent Crabbe, hulking Dudley clones, sat speaking to each other in low tones. Crabbe, the further one since the students had taken spots in alphabetical order, had noticed Harry's glance but looked away quickly. He surreptitiously leaned back to catch a glimpse of Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode. The former, a tanned, dirty blonde that seemed open and friendly, was speaking with Greengrass and didn't notice him. The latter, a female version of Goyle, did and she also looked away quickly when their eyes met.

It was interesting, Harry thought, that the ones who looked most like Dudley – and therefore the ones Harry might expect to be bullies – were actually acting a bit like they were bullied themselves. It must be because magic has little, or perhaps nothing to do with physical size.

Dumbledore stood and said a few nonsense words just before the food appeared, at which time Harry allowed his new classmates first choice. Despite the delicious smells, he wasn't terribly hungry due to the sizable sandwich and treats he had eaten on the train, and it seemed to please the two nearest to him to get their food before him. Instead he spent the time studying the students at the other tables; he could easily pick out the bushy-haired Hermione and the flame-haired Ron at the Gryffindor table. He felt a pang of regret that he wasn't with them, but he supposed he'd see them often enough. Unfortunately he couldn't see much of the Hufflepuffs - since they were fewer in number they were hidden behind some of the older Gryffindors. The first year Ravenclaws were largely quiet, though the older ones sounded as though they were catching up with their friends.

During the headmaster's more reasonable speech, Harry took the time to glance back at the angry, dark-haired professor, but somehow the man knew Harry was looking. What had Harry done to make the bully hate him already? It must have been the name, Harry thought. Granted he hadn't been in the Hall all that long, but it wasn't until Professor McGonagall called him up that his sense of danger flared. As he was returning the look expressionlessly, suddenly a sharp pain in his forehead involuntarily snapped his hand up to his scar. He couldn't hold back a hiss of pain in time.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Harry turned in surprise to see that Daphne Greengrass had spoken to him, and thankfully it wasn't in an overly harsh tone...although part of that might have been because she was trying to speak quietly.

"Nothing," Harry said in the same neutral tone, forcing his hand away from his throbbing scar. "Do you know who the professor near our end of the table is? The one who's been glaring at me, I mean."

Harry jerked a little when most of the first years snapped their heads in his direction. "That is Professor Snape, our Head of House," Malfoy said quietly.

"What did you do to him, Potter?" Nott was probably annoyed that Greengrass had spoken across him, but his tone wasn't as hostile as before. Did Malfoy already have that big of an influence on him?

"I've never seen or even heard of him before in my life," Harry said honestly.

"_What_?" Several of his classmates exclaimed in disbelief, interrupting the headmaster and getting glares from the Head Table. They didn't speak again until they were led to their common room.

The first years were held back with the Prefects, which made Harry sigh softly in relief. Letting the older students filter out of the Hall would make it easier to avoid getting lost in the jumble, and would also make it easier to keep an eye on everyone else. He glanced over to the other groups of first years, hoping to catch Ron's or Hermione's eyes. The latter seemed to be drinking in what her Prefect – Harry recognized him as one of Ron's brothers – was saying. His red-haired friend from the train did glance at Harry but quickly looked away. He once again suppressed the pang of disappointment, figuring he had just met those two earlier today anyway.

Most of the first year Slytherins kept their distance from Harry, seemingly unsure of what to do about him. Most of them, that is, except for Tracey Davis. After apparently arguing with Greengrass quietly, Davis sidled up to him on their way to the dungeons. "Hi," she said shyly.

"Hello, Ms. Davis," Harry said politely.

She giggled and looked back at her friend, and Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. She leaned in to whisper to him, causing him to flinch back involuntarily. She looked at him in surprise, and inwardly he cursed himself. "It's okay, P—Harry," she said, whispering the last word. "I'm a half-blood, too."

Harry wondered what that meant; it sounded like it wasn't a good thing, and apparently he was one as well. "I see," he said neutrally. He wanted to ask her about that and several other things, but he could feel lots of eyes on the pair of them and he didn't feel like putting his ignorance on display once again. "Can we talk later? Somewhere more private, maybe?"

She gasped lightly and spun her head back to Greengrass, whose eyes widened as she looked at him.

"Sorry," he said, fighting a blush. "I just meant it's too crowded here. You can invite Greengrass..." As he said it he realized he probably just made it worse. He decided to go with his hunch. "...and Zabini if you like." At their surprised looks, he shrugged. "It seemed like you knew each other."

Davis glanced around at the other first years quickly then turned back to him and searched his eyes for several moments. "Nobody was supposed to know that," she said softly.

He cringed inwardly, but kept his face blank. "Sorry."

"I accept," Greengrass said formally, joining them and causing even more looks in their direction. Then she leaned over and whispered something in her friend's ear, after which they both nodded and dirty-blonde smiled.

They reached the Slytherin Common Room a moment later, filing in behind the Prefects. Thankfully the Common Room wasn't terribly full; at least some of them had something better to do than gawk like the people at Diagon Alley a month ago. Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, approached Harry almost immediately, but he deliberately looked elsewhere in order to put it off as long as possible. Not the best stalling tactic, but...

It worked when they were distracted by the entrance opening again, but his sense of relief was short lived when Professor Snape swept into the room, eyes fixed on Harry. "Well, well, if it isn't our new...celebrity."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he merely returned the man's glare with what he hoped was an unassuming look, something like mild curiosity. He was curious, in reality, since he had no idea why his new Head of House despised him so. Snape's face darkened as he tilted his head forward to intensify the glare. Before Harry could even think of how to deal with this bully, the professor suddenly jerked upright, eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed to the floor in a heap.

* * *

A/N:

This took me forever because of the lack of dialogue, so don't be surprised to find more blabbering in the future like my other novel-length story. Also, I'm not planning on making this a comprehensive, 100k+ word per year series. The introductory pieces of the story – showing how my Harry diverges from canon!Harry and developing personalities and relationships – will soon give way to jumping ahead to important events. At least, that's the plan...chapter two is about 5k words, and I'm still slogging through the first couple weeks of the school year.

In case you can't tell, writing dialogue for little kids is not my forte. I always have to go back and dumb it down, and even then it doesn't always come out reasonably. I figure I can get away with more complex words in his head, though, since people don't generally think in words.

If this is the first story you're reading of mine, be informed that I'm something of a perfectionist. So any errors that you find, be they spelling, grammar, continuity, anachronistic, or logical, I want to know about them. I can't promise I'll fix a minor issue that requires a major structural change, but I'd still like to know for future reference.

So leave a review, whether you're pointing out mistakes, leaving me with thoughts or ideas, or trying to burn the story out of your brain by flaming me...I want to see it! Thanks for reading.


	2. Lesson 02: Advice

Disclaimer: No matter how much I begged the Sorting Hat, it wouldn't put me in the House that values students that own the Potterverse. Turns out JK Rowling is the only one there.

* * *

**Harry Silvertongue**

**Lesson Two: Advice**

* * *

"_Don't refuse good advice just because it's given by someone who's an asshole, and don't accept bad advice just because it's given by someone who's not."_

"_Are you an asshole?"_

"_Exactly, Harry. And watch your goddamn mouth."_

* * *

Shocked silence reigned over the Common Room as they stared at the completely unconscious professor. Harry's face flushed red and throbbed with embarrassment, which he fought down with some difficulty in order to figure out what to do. He was the first one to move, and he dashed to the professor's side and felt for a pulse, which seemed to be normal even though a gentle shaking didn't seem to wake him. He looked up into the apparently petrified faces of his classmates and the other students and searched them for one of the prefects.

He saw the girl who had introduced herself as Gemma Farley right before they had been led down here. "Ms. Farley, what do we do? His pulse feels fine. Is there a nurse?"

It took another second, but the Common Room exploded into action. Most of that action involved loudly gossiping and shouting questions at Harry, but Farley actually pulled her wand and cast a spell that Harry could only barely hear despite his proximity.

"_Rennervate_!"

When that failed to produce any reaction, she levitated the unconscious professor and charged out of the Common Room with Harry on her heels. He was simultaneously impressed by the levitation charm and concerned by the unsteady bouncing as she walked briskly back the way they had come. He resisted the urge to dash up and steady the man, but he had no idea if that would ruin the spell. He didn't even realize they had been followed until rounding the first landing on the stairs, at which time he spotted both Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. They had followed quietly, the former's eyes were wide, staring at Professor Snape with apparently the same concerns about his jostling, while the latter kept her inscrutable gaze on Harry himself. He considered asking them why they were following, but he held his tongue. They had seen the entire episode, so he could use some backup when the professor was awakened.

They reached the infirmary in short order, but they had been quickly bustled into an out-of-the-way section between unused beds by a muttering woman in a burgundy and white uniform. The woman's demeanor as much as the uniform immediately identified her as the nurse in charge, and Farley provided the name – Madam Pomfrey. After a brief exchange with the prefect and a glance in Harry's direction she went to the fire, grabbed a handful of power and threw it into the fire, calling for the headmaster.

"What did you do, Harry?" He turned to find Tracey looking at him curiously – no accusation in her eyes. Her friend's face, however, remained unreadable.

He slipped back into the same unassuming mask as he considered what to say. Before he could come up with an answer, however, Headmaster Dumbledore swept into the room and started waving his wand at the same time he started tossing questions at the Matron and Farley faster than they could answer. The wand stopped mid-swish when the latter explained that Harry and Professor Snape had only been staring at each other.

"Mr. Potter?" The aged wizard looked wary, a fact that Harry found bizarre and rather off-putting.

"It's true, headmaster," he said slowly, "I don't know what happened."

Professor Dumbledore stared wordlessly in much the same way as Harry's Head of House, wand still frozen high in the air for several moments before it lowered gradually. Eventually Dumbledore turned back toward the bed and waved his wand once. "Curious," he said, then turned to the three young Slytherins, eying them each in turn. "Curious indeed."

"What's curious, sir?" Harry kept his voice neutral, but inside he was getting quite tired of hearing that.

When the headmaster didn't answer right away, Daphne jumped in. "It was Legilimency, wasn't it, sir? Potter has some sort of natural defense against it, doesn't he?"

That declaration startled everybody else in the room, then Pomfrey scoffed. "Occlumency at his age?"

"Not Occlumency," the headmaster replied, then seemed to jump slightly as though he didn't realize he said that aloud. "It would not have...well, it's not important. Suffice it to say it was not Occlumency, and it wasn't Mr. Potter's fault."

Harry wasn't about to let that drop, though. "What's Occlumency, sir?"

"I'm sorry, my boy, I'm afraid this isn't the time," Dumbledore said, then held up a hand to stave off the imminent objection. "It seems we have much to discuss, however, so I'll call on you tomorrow, if you please."

"I do," Harry said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"Very well." Dumbledore sighed, but whether in relief or consternation Harry didn't know. It annoyed him either way. "Ms. Farley, would you escort our new first years back to the dormitory? Tomorrow is their first day, after all, and I assure you that Professor Snape will be up and about in no time."

"Of course, headmaster," the prefect said, turning to the children and waving them out.

Harry held the older man's gaze for several moments longer before nodding and following the others. He would have his chance tomorrow.

"How did you know that happened, Daphne?" Harry heard Tracey's question as soon as he joined them.

The raven-haired Slytherin shrugged her shoulders, then turned her ice-blue eyes on Harry. "It was the only thing that made sense."

Tracey scratched her head as she looked back and forth between her and Harry. "What makes you say that?"

"My father taught me enough to recognize when someone is using Legilimency. Potter didn't know Professor Snape, so it's safe to say he knows very little about the wizarding world in general, let alone advanced magic such as Occlumency. And from what I learned about it, I don't think it's enough to do that." Daphne gestured back at the infirmary. "I asked if there was any other way I could stop it, and my father said no; he said that there are some people that have some sort of natural defense, but I don't. Some creatures like werewolves are also protected."

"Your father taught you quite a bit," the prefect said with a frown. Harry detected a hint of jealousy there.

"He wanted me to be prepared," Daphne said evenly.

Harry thought that was a wonderful idea, and not for the first time he wished he had the same opportunity. "Can you teach me?"

She tensed, but before she could reply, Tracey jumped in and touched his shoulder. He went rigid, but she plowed ahead, oblivious. "But you don't need it," she said with a bright smile, then turned to her friend. "Can you teach me, instead? Or both of us...yeah, that's even better! Teach both of us!"

Daphne reached over and gently removed Tracey's hand from Harry's shoulder. "Okay," she said softly.

Tracey looked back and forth between them and then flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, I-I'm sorry, Harry..."

"It's okay, Tracey," he replied, then looked surprised when a brilliant smile flashed across her face. "What?"

"You called her by her first name," Daphne supplied, which furthered his surprise.

When did he start thinking of them by their first names? "Is that...not normal?"

"Not in Slytherin," she said.

"Oh, well I wouldn't mind if you both called me Harry."

"Sure, Potter," she replied with a smirk.

"C'mon Greengrass," Harry said, "or shall I call you Greenie?"

Tracey laughed uproariously despite the glare Harry received. Harry didn't think it was that funny until she elaborated. "She was almost named 'Queenie.'"

Harry coughed out unexpected laughter, a sound he just realized he hadn't made for a month and a half. "Queenie Greenie it is, then?"

Daphne's glare intensified but this time it was spread over the two of them. "I don't care if there's a prefect watching me; I will hex you both into next week."

"I'm sorry, Green...grass," Harry said. "You realize I'm going to think of it every time I say that, and you probably will, too."

"Oh, he's got you there, Daph," Tracey said with a smirk.

Daphne huffed. "Fine, you may call me Daphne...Harry."

Harry couldn't help but smile at that, another act he hadn't genuinely performed in some time. "Thank you, Daphne."

She tried to scowl but he didn't think her heart was in it. The prefect glanced up with an odd smirk as they turned down another flight of stairs, but Harry dismissed it as unimportant. Tracey tried to convince Daphne to teach them tonight until she remembered that Harry wanted to talk, and then she was trying to figure out how they could squeeze _both_ in tonight until Daphne pointed out that all four of them were likely to be mobbed to find out what happened.

Tracey made what Harry thought was a funny growl at that. "Well, tomorrow then!"

That made the Prefect laugh as she supplied the password to enter the common room. Contrary to what Daphne predicted, they weren't immediately set upon by a large group of people. Instead, Malfoy approached, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle and followed by Parkinson and Bulstrode. Zabini eyed Tracey and Daphne as if he wanted to speak to them, but he remained in his chair, apparently trying to show no more interest than any other student.

"What news, Farley?" Malfoy asked the question as if he had been waiting on her...as if he had invited her to report to him.

She didn't fall for it. "The headmaster wanted me to remind you all that classes begin tomorrow, and that we would have our Head of House back in no time." She doesn't address Malfoy directly, instead speaking loud enough for the common room to hear. "His illness had nothing to do with any of these three, so don't badger them. That is all."

Harry thought he saw a flash of anger in Malfoy's face at first, but it was quickly replaced by the usual superior, cold expression. The common room waited until Gemma Farley moved to find the other prefects before breaking out in conversation once again.

Malfoy, of course, went straight for the three new friends. "Was Pomfrey able to revive Professor Snape, Potter?"

"No, but the headmaster came in to check him and they sent us away," Tracey jumped in.

His face twisted into a sneer. "Dumbledore. My father says he's worthless." Then he realized who had been speaking, and turned his attention to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort." His eyes flickered to Tracey, and Harry had to suppress his own flash of anger. He thought he did a better job than Malfoy. "I can help you there."

"_Don't refuse good advice just because it's given by someone who's an asshole, and don't accept bad advice just because it's given by someone who's not."_

Harry stared at the outstretched hand for a moment as Will's advice echoed in his head once again. He combined that advice with the tactic he had seen Malfoy use mere moments before as he constructed his reply. It began with accepting the proffered hand. "Thank you, Malfoy," he said, leaving out the honorific just as the other boy had, "I shall inform you when I require your services."

He heard an ever so slight intake of breath behind him, and saw mostly blank looks in front of him, where he figured only Malfoy understood the slight. The other boy's jaw clenched, but to his credit he merely nodded and swept away toward the stairwell.

Harry turned to find Tracey and Daphne gaping at him. "I can't believe you said that," the latter said quietly, eyes flickering around to make sure nobody could hear her.

He shrugged. "I didn't like what he was implying about Tracey."

The girl in question gave him a brilliant smile and then threw her arms around him. Harry went completely rigid, part of his mind screaming to get away while the rest insisted he had nothing to worry about. "Tracey," Daphne said uncertainly, and slowly reached up to remove the other girl's arms. It was only after the girl had been extricated that Harry realized he had pulled his knife, though he hadn't opened it and his hand was clenched so tight around it that his arm was shaking. He felt a warm trickle of blood dripping between his fingers.

"Oh, I forgot! I'm sorry Harry..." Tracey had spotted the blood and looked back up at him with with dismay. "Wh-what...are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said once he came back to his senses. He felt his face heat with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I-I don't know why I did that."

"I think we have a lot to talk about," Daphne said slowly.

* * *

In their first Potions class on Thursday, Hermione had been sitting alone at one of the two-person tables in the front and center of the classroom when Harry, Daphne, and Tracey arrived. None of the other Gryffindors were speaking to her; it didn't help that they had all paired off evenly and claimed most of the right side of the classroom. The clear longing in her surreptitious glances made his heart sink with pity.

"Only two person tables," Tracey mused. "How should we split up?"

"Why don't you two sit together," Harry said, meeting Hermione's eyes when she turned to see the newcomers. He returned her small, nervous smile and wave. "I'll sit with Hermione." That brought the other girls up short, though he kept walking toward the vacant seat next to the wide-eyed Gryffindor. "Hello again, Hermione," he said in the soft voice he used on the train, "may I sit with you?"

"Y-yes, of course...Harry," she said.

He turned to introduce Daphne and Tracey, but they had already taken a seat at the left side of the room and had their heads together, whispering heatedly. Suppressing a frown, he turned back and took his seat to find Hermione looking at him questioningly. He just smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "So how are you enjoying the classes so far?"

Her eyes lit up like Dudley's on Christmas morning at the question. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike gaped as the two students from rival houses appeared to be getting along quite famously, as if they didn't even notice the color of their robes. Not that Harry had meant to draw attention to them, of course; it was just a simple question and she had spoken breathlessly, describing every reaction to every class in great detail until Professor Snape swept into the room and glared at them. Well, he glared at Hermione, anyway. The man never glared directly at Harry anymore, but the half-muttered, half-growled comments had continued apace. Harry's father figured prominently in them, so the reason for Snape's bitterness quickly became clear. Why he thought Harry would react to taunts about somebody he never knew...well, that wasn't so clear.

After a surprisingly inspiring speech was ruined at the very end by Snape's apparently habitual condescension, the taunts became more public. "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

As Hermione's hand shot into the air, Harry recognized the look on the professor's face: it was the same look his uncle wore when he was eagerly awaiting Harry's answering "I don't know" to a question he couldn't possibly know. He'd last seen the look when the glass had vanished at the zoo...although Harry knew why _now_, back then he had no idea. There was nothing he could do, unfortunately, to avoid answering. Snark was a very bad idea with Vernon, and after what happened at their first meeting, he suspected it would be equally bad with Snape. So, meekness it is. "I'm sorry, I don't know, sir."

"Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything." The sneer on his face was almost audible.

Harry kept his face blank despite the twinge of annoyance. When had he said anything about fame? Frankly, he found the attention rather uncomfortable, especially as rumors abound regarding what happened in the Slytherin common room. He could have counted on one hand the number of first year students who would still look him in the eye that first day of class, though that had let up somewhat after the Weasley twins gave him a standing ovation in the Great Hall...an action that was joined by a number of other Gryffindors and that had demolished any chance of hiding his embarrassment. But clearly at the moment he was being baited, so he remained silent and expressionless.

That didn't improve the professor's mood. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

His table-mate's hand once again shot into the air, and Harry was surprised she hadn't realized what was going on. Snape didn't want answers; he wanted humiliation. Harry didn't have a problem with that normally, but there _were_ a lot of other students in the class. He could always answer literally, but how could he do that without sounding snarky?

"Well?"

Apparently he had stalled too long. "If you told me to find you a bezoar, sir, I'd look in your supply cabinet because I don't know where they come from naturally." Inwardly he cringed because he knew that could still be considered snarky. "I'm sorry again, sir," he added quickly.

Snickers from behind him were silenced by an angry, red-faced glare from Snape. "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Once again Harry refused to rise to the bait. He had indeed opened his book, but he certainly hadn't memorized it. No good could come of claiming what little knowledge he had retained anyway, so again he remained silent and expressionless.

It turned out he didn't have to wait long for the next question. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane? And you can dispense with the cheek this time, _Potter_." He practically spat the name out this time, and idly Harry thought Snape probably did that a lot back when he knew Harry's father.

If it wouldn't make matters worse, Harry might have laughed at Hermione jumping out of her seat with her hand raised. Snape gave no indication of noticing her, but whether she knew it or not, she _was_ helping to display the man's petulance, and Harry was grateful. There was no literal answer for this one, unless he said something extremely snarky like 'the names are different.' That was likely to land him in detention, though.

"Nothing to say, Potter? Is your head as empty as your cauldron?"

"No, it's just that, from your reaction to my earlier responses, it seems I can't say anything right," Harry said, affecting his well-practiced self-deprecation in his words.

Snape's jaw clenched as he glared at Harry's uniform. If it had been trimmed in scarlet instead of green, Harry was certain there would have been House points taken away just then. "I _should_ have expected as much," he said after a few moments. Harry had to admit that was a good comeback; he didn't think Snape could agree and make himself seem superior without either looking even more petulant or admitting his own bullying, but he managed to do just that. Harry thought that he should have expected as much from the head of Slytherin House. "Sit down," the professor snapped at Hermione. "For your information, _Potter_, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Harry almost let out a chuckle when he realized his joke about the names being different was actually correct. Instead he released a quiet sigh of relief from getting out of that situation, but it didn't improve greatly once they'd been ordered to brew a boil-curing potion in pairs. Hermione must have prepared her ingredients with textbook accuracy, because all she earned was a healthy portion of glares from the professor. He was too quick to berate the others, especially the apparently accident-prone Neville Longbottom – an observation well-supported by the melting cauldron and subsequent trip to the infirmary – to have any other explanation. Malfoy actually received praise, though Harry wondered if it was really earned since the words seemed forced, and Daphne also escaped any criticism. Tracey didn't, though, and Harry seethed when the professor called her useless.

Eventually, after what seemed like several hours, he and Hermione were cleaning up their area, the latter wearing a frown the whole time. Harry was fairly certain it had to do with Snape's grading of their potion, or rather his reticence on it. He had merely glared at it, dipped a finger in and tasted it, and then moved on without a word, ignoring Hermione's, "sir?." When they were dismissed, she waited until the door closed behind them before exploding into furious whispers.

"That was so unfair! He didn't even tell us our grade! What did we do wrong? What did _you_ do wrong? Why was he being so mean to you, asking you those questions that we aren't even going to cover this year? This doesn't make any sense!"

"Hermione," Harry said softly. His voice had the effect of ceasing her breathless rant immediately. "Thank you for being my partner today," he said, "the fact that he didn't criticize our potion must have meant that we did it perfectly."

"Really? B-but..."

"Yes, really," Daphne's voice sounded from behind. Harry turned to see his two friends approaching, the taller raven-haired girl expressionless as usual while Tracey wore a scowl.

"No offense, Harry, but I'm sorta glad I didn't sit with you for that," she said. Her eyes tightened slightly as they flickered to Hermione, however.

Harry winced slightly and turned to his unfortunate brewing partner. "Yeah, sorry about that, Hermione. This is Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, by the way." He turned to his housemates to continue the introductions. "Hermione Granger. She and I met on the train."

"As did we," Tracey said quietly. "Sort of."

"Neville's toad," Hermione added in explanation, blushing and averting her eyes from the two Slytherin girls. They must not have reacted very hospitably at that meeting. "So what was all that stuff about, Harry?"

"Professor Snape doesn't like me very much," Harry said wryly.

"Well, you did knock him out the first time you ever spoke to him," Tracey joked.

Hermione gasped and rounded on him. "That rumor is_ true_?"

Tracey laughed and even Daphne chuckled slightly. "It's not like that," Harry said, trying to fix Tracey with a stern glare despite his smile. "Snape has had it out for me since the first time he met me...something to do with my father, I think. He tried to invade my mind and collapsed because of some sort of natural defense against Legilimency...or so Daphne says. Professor Dumbledore said the same thing." He kept the frustration off his face at the memory of his meeting with the headmaster.

"You know I'm right," Daphne said with a sniff of mock indignation.

"I-invade your—but...but he's a professor!" Hermione sputtered at the thought. "He shouldn't act like that!"

"He's a bully," Harry said with a shrug. "And I've learned how to handle bullies." Hermione made a little squeak, which made him feel bad all over again about the train. "Oh no, Hermione, I didn't mean...that. I really am sorry about that, you're really not..."

She turned her red face away. "No...I am...I was..."

She was on the verge of crying, and Harry didn't know what to do. He looked over to find Daphne merely watching with a raised eyebrow, but at least Tracey appeared sympathetic. He shot her a questioning look and she mimicked a hugging motion, the thought of which made Harry ill. He lifted his arm to put a hand on her shoulder, but it started badly before it got there. He pulled it back and shook it out as if that might help, then tried again. It started to shake again but he pushed through it. Hermione jumped slightly at the contact and looked over at him. "Hermione, you're not a bully," he said softly, trying to lean in a bit so nobody would overhear. "You're not."

She bit her lip and, when Harry dropped his hand from her shoulder, glanced back to the other two girls, embarrassed. She looked like she wanted to argue, but she just nodded and continued looking sad.

Frowning, Harry knew he had to do something else. "Do you want to...study together this weekend? Maybe work on the Transfiguration essay?" Based on her reaction in class, he figured that would be a reliable way to get on her good side.

Her eyes lit up at the mention of studying, but then her face fell at his second question. "I already finished it," she said in a small voice.

"That's okay," Harry said quickly, "something else, then?"

"Spending time with Gryffindors, Harry?" Daphne's eyebrow was raised again, this time directed at him. Tracey's lips were drawn tight, an expression Harry recognized as displeasure.

Harry suppressed a frown and shrugged. "I don't have enough friends to turn one away based on the color of their robes."

When Harry called her his friend, Hermione beamed at him.

* * *

On the way out to the grounds with Tracey and Daphne, Harry felt ambivalent about the coming flying lesson. On the one hand, obviously, it was _flying_. Certainly he wasn't the only Muggle-raised child who dreamed he could fly only to find out first that magic really existed, and second that wizards and witches could in fact fly on brooms. On the other hand, it was with the Gryffindors, who were the oil to the Slytherins' water. He couldn't blame them, really...Malfoy's incessantly annoying taunts targeted students from every House, but Gryffindor definitely got it worst. Ron had already decided by the train ride that being Sorted to Slytherin amounted to being declared evil, and Malfoy gave him ample supporting evidence. After the connection he and Ron had made on the train, it didn't feel good when he continued to look at Harry with some mixture of fear and disgust. At least Hermione continued to welcome his company, though it strained his relationship with the Slytherins as much as he imagined it strained hers with the Gryffindors. It seemed odd that first years could have so quickly and thoroughly adopted the apparently institutionalized antagonism toward their rival Houses, but between older family members and older students, they had managed it in less than two weeks.

In that respect it was nice that the rival Houses only had Potions together, as far as regular classes go. Having the two meet outside the castle in such a wide open space...Harry knew well beforehand that this was a poor decision. He was able to forget about this prediction, however with a simple, "up!" The broomstick eagerly leaped to his hand, drawing envious looks from Hermione and Tracey. After he took the position described by the instructor, he was sorely tempted to take off as his instincts suggested. But he restrained and distracted himself by studying the rest of the class. He thought it slowed Hermione down when she got flustered at her inability to coax the broomstick off the ground, though even she was faster than Longbottom.

To Harry's annoyance, they didn't even get the order to kick off the ground when Neville shot up into the air and started wildly bucking, seemingly of his own volition. Harry saw a flash of...something...as it fell from the clumsy boy's pocket. It was clear Neville was panicking and over-correcting his weight imbalance, and sure enough he tumbled over the side before Hooch could do anything. The nasty cracking sound when he foolishly tried to stop his fall with one arm made Harry and every other student within earshot cringe. The flying instructor hurried him off to the infirmary with a firm admonishment to stay grounded.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy sniggered with his hulking shadows.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped the a girl Harry recognized as Parvati Patil. Well, he had to use the Gryffindor robes to identify which twin it was, but that was good enough.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Parkinson sneered from Malfoy's side. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look," Malfoy said, and Harry immediately knew the other boy saw the glass ball. Harry, being closer, swiped it before Malfoy had moved too far and held it up. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He went to take it from Harry's hand, but Harry moved first, bringing a near-scowl to the other boy's face. "I'll take that, Potter."

"No need to trouble yourself, Malfoy," Harry said coolly, dropping it in his pocket but keeping his left hand on it while his right reached past his wand and rested on his knife. "I will return it for you."

"Like he was going to—" Parkinson started to say, but Malfoy shushed her.

"Very well, Potter," he said, jaw clenched. "Return it to Longbottom for me. I'm too busy anyway." He spun on his heel and marched a little ways away from the group, followed as always by Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson. Nott glared at Harry before catching up, and Zabini actually nodded to Daphne and Tracey before joining them. Bulstrode looked back and forth with a deep frown for a moment before joining the Malfoy camp. It was a wise decision, Harry thought, since Malfoy was the only one that would hold a grudge.

Tracey was also frowning, though Daphne looked thoughtful. They both stayed by his side. He turned to find Hermione to give her the glass globe, but instead he was approached by a clearly nervous Ron. Harry recognized Dean and Seamus flanking what Harry assumed was their roommate. "I-I can take it to Neville, H-Harry," Ron said haltingly.

Harry had to give it to Ron; his bravery was not in short supply. "I was going to give it to Hermione," Harry said, glancing at the bushy-haired girl who appeared to be trying to shrink into nothingness at the attention, "but if you'd like to work that out with her..."

"He can take it," she said quickly, causing Harry to hide a frown. He eyed her for a moment, then held out the glass ball to Ron.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, relief evident in his voice and his posture after he pocketed Neville's globe. "I knew the Sorting Hat messed up, putting you with the snakes."

Harry could feel Tracey's hackles rise at that, but he almost chuckled at the redhead's complete lack of tact. "No, Ron, the Hat didn't know where to put me, and after I asked it a question its first suggestion was Slytherin. I told it that would be acceptable."

Stunned silence met that proclamation.

"B-but, it's _Slytherin_," Ron said, as if that would change Harry's whole outlook.

"Who'd want to hang around snakes all day, you know?" Seamus' thick Irish accent seemed to make that even more offensive.

"They are my friends, Finnegan," Harry said coolly, getting tired of the senseless rivalry already. Seamus looked away quickly, and Harry wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or annoyed at the rumors of his encounter with Snape.

"Right," Ron said uncomfortably as he backed away slowly. "Well, uh...just...be careful around them, you know?"

"Excellent advice," Harry said with a smile, ignoring the indignant glare he knew Ron was getting from Tracey. "I will do just that."

* * *

A/N:

Gemma Farley is a character that only exists on Pottermore (I wouldn't know firsthand, but apparently if you are Sorted into Slytherin, she is the prefect that welcomes you).

Those of you intimately familiar with canon might note the absence of Harry's tea time with Hagrid. This was intentional, since Hagrid was the one who said something like, "there's not a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin" (though Ron gets the line in the movie), and "better Hufflepuff than Slytherin." We'll see him later on. There's also no stumbling upon the forbidden corridor, obviously, since they're nowhere near Gryffindor Tower.

I was sorely tempted to have Harry say, "they're my friends, Irishman." I watched Braveheart a lot when I was a teen.

I'm still determined to start jumping ahead, which is why I'm still sticking pretty close to canon thus far. Rest assured we will diverge soon enough.

There was a much smaller response – about a third the number of both hits and reviews – to this than for _A Summoning Gone Awry_, even though I think this story is (or will be, anyway) better. Is my summary that much crappier for this one, or is it just because there are no pairings listed for this story yet? Or perhaps the masses simply want Harry/multi. Since I'm kinda being serious this time, though, this will not be one of those stories. Regarding the eventual romantic relationships, I do have a general plan for Harry but I am fully prepared to allow my characters to surprise me on that front.

Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.


	3. Lesson 03: Friends

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling does not appreciate advice regarding the apportionment of proprietary rights for the Harry Potter universe.

* * *

**Harry Silvertongue**

**Lesson Three: Friends**

* * *

"_How do you know your sister would be angry with you?"_

"_She told me how she knew...about me, even though she'd gotten herself out by then. She said nobody worth knowing would let that happen. She told me about...well, the point is, you have to help when you can. Because people like you and me, we didn't have anybody else."_

"_...didn't..."_

"_That's right. Past tense. I'll never forget what she told me, because she was the only one who listened to me in return. For me, that help was everything. That's what real friends do. For people like us, Harry, friends are _everything_."_

* * *

"Lost again, Longbottom? Walking through the Great Hall must be difficult for you; maybe you should carry a map!" Malfoy's ability to make his sneer audible was actually kind of a neat trick, Harry thought wryly as he looked up from preparing his baked potato during the Halloween feast. He was annoyed when he found out that the entire wizarding world celebrated his parents' death, so his ability to shrug off the usual things was already strained.

To Neville's credit, he only flinched slightly, lowered his head and kept walking, though his face flushed with embarrassment. He leaned down between Harry and Tracey and spoke low enough for only them to hear. "Hermione's been missing since Charms this morning, and I just heard Lavender and Parvati saying she's hiding in a stall in the girl's bathroom and refuses to come out."

"Why come to us?" Tracey asked, sharing a quick glance with Daphne.

Neville's blush deepened. "Well...er...I had hoped you would...I mean, it's not like I can go in there..."

"Why is she there in the first place?" Harry's voice was sharp; he had a feeling he knew why, but he really wanted to know who.

"Um...somebody may have made a comment—"

Harry had to fight down a flash of anger. "Who?"

Neville didn't meet his eyes. "Look, I'm sure he didn't mean anything—"

"_Who_?" The ire slipped into Harry's voice, causing the poor Gryffindor to flinch again.

Before Neville could stammer out another reply, the doors to the Great Hall burst open to reveal a terrified-looking Professor Quirrell. He sprinted up to the head table, turban askew and apparently starting to unravel. He seemingly collided with the table in front of Dumbledore; the way he slumped over it only added to the effect. "Troll," he said breathlessly, loudly sucking in air afterward before he continued, "in the dungeon...thought you ought to know."

A moment of stunned silence reigned as the Defense professor sank to the floor in a dead faint. Mayhem ensued. Tracey screamed, and Harry was fairly certain she had joined a great many other students despite the fact that he quickly covered his ears. No sooner had they began when Dumbledore lifted his wand and blasted out a series of purple fireworks to quiet everybody down.

"Prefects," he said steadily, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

The Slytherin dormitory...in the dungeons...where the troll was spotted. What was Dumbledore thinking? Why not simply stay here? Predictably the students exploded into action, but the Slytherins just stood and milled about, shouting questions to the prefects. Harry glanced back to find a dazed Neville, leaning against the wall with a hand rubbing the back of his head.

Harry crouched down to speak to the Gryffindor so he wouldn't be overheard. "Neville, which girls' bathroom?"

"The one on the second floor," Tracey supplied.

Harry whipped his head up to her with a glare. "_What_? You _knew_?"

"We had heard, but..." She trailed off and withered under the intensified glare.

"It was none of our business," Daphne retorted, and she only raised an eyebrow at the irate gaze that swung her way. "You can't protect her all the time when you live across the castle, Harry. She's going to have to grow a thicker skin."

He knew she was right, but now wasn't the time for that discussion. His anger abated, and he let out a breath as he stood. "Regardless, we have to go tell her."

Tracey glanced up to the head table, which was quickly emptying. "Why not just tell a professor?"

"They'll just tell us to go to our dorms," Harry said, waving his hand dismissively, "which I don't know how we're supposed to do that since there's a troll in the dungeon anyway. We'll be safer going up than down." Not wanting to waste any more time arguing, Harry turned toward the exit. "Well, I will be, anyway. Do as you like."

Neville scrambled to follow before Harry turned his attention away, but he didn't check to see if Tracey or Daphne would follow. His small stature allowed him to slither through the crowd quickly and virtually unnoticed. He was able to slip out at the tail end of the last Ravenclaw group, keeping his head down and avoiding notice by prefects. Neville caught up with him on the stairs, though Daphne and Tracey hadn't appeared.

As if understanding Harry's glance as they rounded the first landing, Neville said, "they were coming, but someone called out to them."

One of the Ravenclaw students near the end did a double take at seeing a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and then made it a triple take when she realized the Slytherin was Harry Potter. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, which swished with each jerk of her head and also made her forehead look rather large. Her small, squished facial features certainly didn't help with the latter, but at least she looked friendly enough. Harry didn't recognize her, so he thought she must be a second or third year. "What are you two doing?"

He mentally thanked her for speaking quietly. "One of our friends went to the loo, so she doesn't know about the troll."

"Ah, the first year Gryffindor," she said with a nod of understanding. "My roommate did the same thing last year. She'll be okay."

Harry fought down another flash of anger. Did _all_ the girls know about it and nobody thought to help? Daphne had a point, but...Harry shook the thought out of his mind as they reached the second floor. It didn't really matter now. He held up a hand to signal Neville that they should linger here so as not to draw further attention. He gave the older Ravenclaw girl a nod and waited until she had reached the next landing before dashing off toward the girls' bathroom.

Just as he was about to round the corner, a loud crash and a scream stopped his heart. The terror and desperation in Hermione's voice – and he knew somehow it was Hermione's voice – made something snap within him.

"_For people like us, Harry, friends are _everything_."_

He vaguely heard Neville cry out behind him. "Hermione!"

Harry didn't pause at the door lying in splinters at the floor. He didn't even pause at the sight of the twelve foot tall monstrosity in front of him. He quickly took in the creature's appearance: short-thick legs with flat, horned feet, holding up a lumpy boulder-like torso with a relatively small head. Most concerning, however, were the long, muscular arms, one of which was cocking back an enormous club to prepare for another strike. The snap decision was easy to make, even in Harry's frantic state. His little knife might very well feel like a bug bite on the troll's body. It might hurt its legs if he got lucky, but the club-wielding arm was the immediate danger. Luckily the ceiling wasn't high, so the troll's arm was cocked back sideways, within Harry's ability to strike.

And strike he did. No more than a second passed between his entering the room and his running leap that finished with his knife plunging into the troll's forearm. The blade sank in all the way to the hinge. With a cry of surprise, the troll dropped the club and jerked his damaged arm reflexively, sending Harry flying back toward the door. He tried to twist and roll out of it as though he was jumping from a high branch, but the angle was all wrong. His vision blackened for a moment when the back of his head impacted the floor, but the blurry daze was quickly burned away by the adrenaline pumping through his system. He reset his glasses, knocked askew by the impact, and found he had released the grip on his knife when it had lodged in the troll's arm. The exposed pins had dug into his hand as usual, but this time his bright red blood was mixed with the dark, purplish blood from the troll. When it had been wounded it roared in pain and grabbed its arm, but by the time Harry recovered, it hoisted its club in its other hand and roared in anger.

This time, Will's advice about escape routes was easy enough to follow. Harry spun his head around to the door to find Neville frozen in fear. Harry jumped up at the same time the troll started moving and shouted at the other boy. "Run!"

Neville didn't move, at least not until he was nearly bowled over by a fleeing Harry.

The troll crashed back out the doorway in pursuit, and the sight of fleeing magical portraits triggered a more rational response in Harry. What the hell had he been thinking? He pulled his wand as he turned the corner and scoured his lessons for something – anything he could use against the troll. Surely there are offensive spells, but Harry had never seen such things, let alone been taught them. He passed a suit of armor and skidded to a stop. They had discussed animation in Charms, but Flitwick had never animated something very large, and the students themselves hadn't practiced at all. Transfiguration, then, had the most potential. Idly that thought clicked in his mind as probably a nearly universally true statement.

Harry turned to find the troll lumbering around the corner after him, still roaring in anger. He pointed his wand at the torso of the the suit of armor and drew a figure eight around that and the leg of the troll nearest to the armor.

They didn't Switch. Damn it, but he was good at Switching Spells!

However, what did happen was that the suit of armor jerked forward and fell with a huge crash on top of the troll's club, which was yanked out of its left hand and caught the troll's horned feet. With its left arm jerked back and its right arm damaged from the knife, the creature's head slammed onto the stone floor, face first. It rolled over partially on its side then, nose and mouth covered in its purplish blood as it roared in pain and anger. The suit of armor had somehow remained intact, and the opening formed by the legs and the base had trapped the troll's foot.

While it tried to kick off the obstacle, Harry flicked and swished at the club. "_Wingardium Leviosa._" The spell caught the weapon by the handle and slowly – too slowly, it seemed for Harry – lifted itself off the floor.

In Charms they hadn't practiced maneuvering an object once it was airborne, but, recalling Gemma Farley levitating Professor Snape up to the infirmary, Harry took several quick steps backward. The club followed him back toward his target as planned. The troll still hadn't looked up, but the jerking of its head as it tried to kick off the suit of armor would make it a harder target. Once he was satisfied with his aim, he lifted his wand and brought it down in a chopping motion, hoping to give it a little extra force. The club complied. Just as it was about to strike, a flash of red from over Harry's shoulder impacted the club, disintegrating it into dust and spraying it back down the corridor on the far side and against the wall. Just as he was about to spin around to face this new threat, a second and third flash of red – this red was brighter, however – splashed against the troll's head and shoulder. The creature stopped struggling immediately.

Then Harry did spin around, holding his wand up at the ready even though he knew he had no chance against someone who could do that to a troll. Some_ones_, he corrected, as he spotted Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, all with their wands out in front of a terrified-looking Neville. Harry had almost forgotten about the equally small but much chubbier Gryffindor he had come to consider a friend. Oddly it took him several moments to realize he was no longer in danger.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said uncertainly, noticing the hesitation.

As embarrassment overcame the rush of adrenaline, Harry realized his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest, and he was breathing quite hard. Suddenly the energy completely deserted him, and he managed to take the two steps to the wall before he slumped against it. He looked at his hands, both somehow covered in his and the troll's blood, and tried to stop them from shaking. "Hermione," he croaked out. For some reason his voice was hoarse, and it took more effort than he imagined to lift his head. "Is Hermione okay?"

Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick were waving their wands over the troll, but McGonagall had come to check on Harry. She knelt in front of him when he had first tried speaking. "Ms. Granger? But what does she—"

Harry felt his head drooping down to his chest and didn't hear the rest of the question.

* * *

A soft hissing sound roused Harry into wakefulness. Without opening his eyes he grunted at what he surmised must be the garden snake, telling it to go outside if it was hungry. The hissing ended then, dropping his cupboard back into blissful silence.

For a moment, at least.

"Harry?" A soft female voice cut into the quiet from his right.

Harry shot up to a sitting position, suddenly horribly embarrassed that a girl with a familiar voice would find him in his cupboard. His eyes, however, did not cooperate. A harsh white light forced them closed again, and he clapped a hand over them as if to help ward off the pain of the afterimage. It didn't work; his head throbbed, and idly he realized he didn't have his glasses on anyway, so opening his eyes had been pointless to begin with. He laid back down to try and ease the throbbing, and he reached up to the shelf he kept the glasses on but found nothing but air. At the same time he also realized that his bed was abnormally comfortable...and the familiar voice was Hermione, a girl he met at Hogwarts.

The hospital wing! "Hermione?" He coughed at the tickle in his throat when he spoke. Suddenly the reason for his hoarseness hit him like a ton of bricks and he gasped at the memory of the troll. "Hermione! Are you okay?" He groped blindly in the direction of the voice and tried his eyes again to no avail. He involuntarily stiffened and jerked his hand away when delicate fingers lightly brushed his palm.

"She's fine," another familiar voice said curtly from the other side of the bed.

"Tracey?" He turned toward his Housemate and was finally able to crack open an eye and see a human-shaped blob that was slightly less blurry than the surrounding area.

"I'm here," she said, voice much softer than it was a moment before.

Harry resisted sighing at the continued animosity between the two members of rival Houses. He thought they were above this! "Are my glasses nearby?"

"They're here, Harry," Hermione said, a slight clicking sound signifying that they had been lying on the bedside table to his right. He flinched slightly at the blurred movement close to his face, but apparently Hermione had pushed through it because the sterile white environment of the infirmary resolved into clarity.

The first thing he saw was a bushy-haired Gryffindor with an unreadable expression and a bandaged cut on her face and unshed tears in her eyes. Neville was standing next to her, shifting uncomfortably but looking into Harry's eyes. The bedridden Slytherin gave the Gryffindor boy a nod then turned back to Hermione. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She smiled and nodded. "Thanks to you," she said, then her smile turned into a frown and a tear fell from one of her eyes. "Harry, I-I'm sorry—"

"Awake Mr. Potter?" Harry winced at Madam Pomfrey's firm, clinical voice. "Very good, just in time to take this," she said, holding up a clear flask of a light blue liquid that Harry realized must be some sort of potion.

"What is it?"

She raised an eyebrow at him but answered in the same tone. "You had a mild concussion, Mr. Potter, this is the second half of the cure for that."

"I feel fine," he lied.

"It will take care of any lingering headaches," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. Neville and Hermione backpedaled as the matron walked up beside him. "You haven't missed any meals, but the nutrient solution won't hurt," she added with a meaningful glance at his chest. He narrowed his eyes; he could barely count his ribs anymore! She pulled the cork and held it out, giving him a hard look that dared him to contradict her.

He couldn't see Hermione and Neville at the moment so he turned to Tracey, and he realized Daphne had been there all this time as well. The former didn't meet his eyes, and the latter gave him a look that said he was on his own. With a sigh, he reached up and took the flask from her and downed the contents as fast as possible. He fought down the reflex to spit it back up; the cool, minty taste reminded him of mouthwash.

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow again, this time at his apparent lack of reaction. "The headmaster will be here in a few minutes, Mr. Potter. The rest of you should head back to your dormitories before curfew. Ms. Granger, you may go, just remove the bandage when you wake up tomorrow morning."

"Can I...stay here tonight?" Hermione asked in a small voice from behind the Healer. Harry realized the bed next to his was rumpled.

He looked up to see Pomfrey's face soften almost imperceptibly. "I suppose the headmaster will want to speak with you again," she said, still apparently examining Harry.

Suddenly he realized that he didn't have a shirt on, and she was running her hands over a large bruise on his torso where the troll's arm had first struck. As soon as she lifted her hands, he pulled the sheet up around himself. "Very good, Mr. Potter, I'll leave you to say goodbye, then." She bustled off after shooting a meaningful look at Neville and the two Slytherins.

The five friends looked amongst each other, and surprisingly Daphne was the one who broke the silence. "So, Potter," she drawled, "first Professor Snape, now a troll...can nobody look at your ugly mug and stay conscious?"

Harry barked out a laugh that quickly subsided with the pain in his chest, though the others picked it up. "Come to think of it, Greenie, you four are the only ones who've actually looked me in the eye after the thing with Snape."

"Professor Snape," Hermione chided automatically, then she pinked when the three Slytherins snorted at her.

"Harry," Neville said shakily, "thanks for coming with me...there's no way I could have done what you did."

Hermione's blush deepened, and Harry matched her. "I'm sure...I mean, I didn't really..." He trailed off, realizing no matter what he said it would sound silly.

"Attacking a troll with a knife...nobody else in this castle would have done that, not even a Gryffindor," Daphne scoffed. "And I don't mean that in a good way," she added a moment later. "We have wands for a reason, you know."

"Hey, I remembered...eventually," Harry argued.

"Oh Harry, you could have died," Tracey wailed, grabbing his hand with both of hers and hugging it to her stomach. Harry was proud to note that he didn't flinch away from her touch this time.

"Well, I couldn't let it get Hermione," he said slowly, trying to cover up his nervousness. "I would've done the same for any of you," he added when Tracey's grip tightened. That seemed to make her happier, though she muttered something under her breath.

"I'm sorry for putting you in that situation," Hermione said, studying her feet. "I can't thank you enough for saving me."

"No, you can't," Tracey said curtly.

"What Tracey means," Daphne said, elbowing her friend in the side, "is you almost certainly owe Harry a Life Debt."

Hermione's eyes widened. "A what?"

"A Life Debt," Neville said nervously. "A magical link from you to Harry, for saving your life."

She looked stricken at that. "But what does that mean?"

"They say it depends on the action and the danger involved," Daphne said slowly, "but even then it's not always clear or well understood. You won't be able to knowingly endanger Harry, for one, but beyond that..." She trailed off with a shrug.

"As accurate a statement as I could have made myself, Ms. Greengrass," Dumbledore said from the door, smiling genially and gliding into the infirmary with Professors McGonagall and Snape in tow. The headmaster's garish purple robes with yellow stars and moons fluttered behind him, a stark contrast between the jet black robes of the Head of Slytherin House and the flowing emerald green robes of the Head of Gryffindor. "Take two points for Slytherin," Dumbledore added.

His friends' varying reactions bemused Harry. Tracey jumped up and released Harry's hand at the voice, while Daphne turned slowly, all poise and grace despite her preteen years. Neville stumbled backward slightly and Hermione hopped on the bed behind her as if worried they'd tell her to leave. "But I'd never knowingly endanger Harry anyway," Hermione said quietly, once the lull caused by the entrance of the three professors dragged on.

"No indeed, Ms. Granger," Professor Dumbledore said with a broad smile. "It is remarkable to see such friendship in such young wizards and witches as yourselves, especially those of different Houses."

"Well, we should head back—" Daphne said slowly.

"Unless you need us again, Headmaster?" Tracey asked hopefully.

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "I do not believe that will be necessary—"

"Actually I'd like to hear their sides of the story as well," Harry cut in, taking pity on her. He had to return the brilliant smile he received for that. "I missed it the first time around, after all."

Professor Snape scoffed. "Nonsense, that will—"

"—be fine, Severus," Dumbledore overruled him. "I would prefer your students have an escort anyway."

The Potions master wiped the sneer off his face and schooled his face to blank. "Of course, headmaster."

The headmaster gave a slight nod and turned back to Harry. "Now, Mr. Potter, we believe we've heard the entire story from your friends, but I would like to hear the sequence of events from your perspective."

Harry gave it, though both Hermione and Neville interjected when Harry had downplayed his actions. Professor McGonagall's lips tightened when he described levitating the club and trying to 'put the troll out for good,' but Professor Snape actually nodded in agreement. Tracey provided the story of how she and Daphne got caught by a Prefect and had almost convinced a Prefect to go after Harry when they heard several huge booms that seemed to shake the Hall over the following few minutes. After that they had completely refused despite Tracey's begging, and the Slytherins had been forced to remain in the Great Hall for another half-hour after that.

Then, much to Hermione's dismay, Neville had been browbeaten by Harry and Professor McGonagall to reveal who had caused Hermione to hide and cry. His blood boiled when Ron Weasley's name came up. Harry wished he hadn't stood up for the redhead back on the train at the beginning of the year now.

"I will handle the discipline of Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, shooting a knowing look at Harry. "It will not go unpunished," she added firmly when Hermione opened her mouth to argue. The two unlikely friends shared a look that said neither was happy about that arrangement, but they hid it from the adults in the room and remained quiet.

"But who let the troll in in the first place, headmaster?" Daphne had remained quiet until that point, allowing Tracey to handle all the storytelling responsibilities. Her voice implied she had been thinking about that question for some time.

"Who's to say it didn't wander in on its own?" Professor McGonagall had been equally silent, though Harry noted she had shot a disappointed look Hermione and a proud look at Neville during Harry's retelling. Her question sounded rather patronizing; Harry severely doubted she believed it.

"Excuse me, professor, but that seems rather unlikely," Daphne replied flatly.

"Indeed, Ms. Greengrass," Dumbledore said jovially, "but rest assured that is why we are looking into it."

Harry knew they wouldn't give them any more than that, and apparently Daphne knew it as well. She merely pressed her lips together and nodded.

"If there's nothing else, headmaster," Professor McGonagall said after a few moments, "I suggest we lead the students back to their dormitories and allow them rest after their ordeal." Her voice was surprisingly soft for her.

"Madam Pomfrey said I was staying overnight, Professor," Hermione said quickly.

"Of course, Ms. Granger," the Head of Gryffindor said, though her voice gained back a little of its sternness. "Mr. Longbottom, shall we?"

"Y-yes, Professor," Neville said, clearly intimidated. "See you Harry, Hermione," he added in a mutter as he followed his Head of House out the door. Harry just realized the poor boy had been in the spotlight between the two most frightening professors in the school this whole time.

"Davis, Greengrass," Professor Snape said curtly, then turned and swept out of the room, expecting to be obeyed immediately. Harry's eyes snapped to the man's slight limp and apparently spotless set of robes. So, Snape had been injured somehow, despite the fact that the troll had been knocked out. And apparently he had changed his robes.

"See you tomorrow, Harry," Tracey said, hovering over him as if considering giving him a hug. She settled for a pat on the arm and a bit of a glare directed toward Hermione.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Daphne leaned in and whispered with a meaningful look at Snape's retreating leg.

"C'mon, Daph," Tracey said, taking the other girl's arm and scurrying after their Head of House. They were whispering heatedly on the way out.

Professor Dumbledore started to say something, but Harry cut him off. "What happened to Professor Snape's leg, sir?"

The aged headmaster snapped his mouth shut and sat down lightly on the end of Hermione's bed. "I'm afraid he did not share much in the way of details with me," he said after a moment. Harry didn't miss the fact that the statement was a flowery way of saying nothing at all. "At any rate, since your respective Heads of House were reluctant to do so for some reason, I must warn you that I intend to share certain details of your encounter at breakfast tomorrow morning; Poppy has informed me you shall be released by then." He held up a hand to stave off Harry's objection. "I will not be swayed; you deserve to be commended for your actions and rewarded appropriately. And I must confess one selfish reason for waiting: I hope others join you in reaching across House boundaries. Only our upper years do so in any significant way, and that's only when they form study groups for their seventh year exams."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "NEWTs," she said with a far off look, almost reverently.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Just so, Ms. Granger. Well, I shall leave you both to rest." He started to stand, then seemed to think better of it. He turned to Hermione. "You've been through a trying ordeal, and if you'd like to talk, my door is always open to you both, as are your Heads of Houses, I'm sure. Madam Pomfrey can likely help as well. Or, if I may be so bold, speak to each other. As Ms. Greengrass said, there is a connection between the two of you. Nothing need come of it, of course, and the Life Debt will not even force you to be friends. But only the pair of you and perhaps Mr. Longbottom understand what it was like facing that troll."

"And you," Hermione blurted out.

"And Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and myself, of course, and a couple others besides, most likely," he added with a small smile. "But be prepared for others' lack of understanding when it comes to fear; either downplaying your accomplishments or being...rather enthusiastic about them. My advice is to indulge them in their ignorance, and treasure the friendship and understanding between yourselves." He patted Hermione's hand and gave her a grandfatherly smile, which she returned with a tearful and shy one.

Harry, meanwhile, felt his eyes burn. Confusion and frustration at his lack of understanding his own feelings only made it worse. He once again found himself savagely pushing away that frustration and focusing on something familiar. What chased the discomfort away, surprisingly enough, was the memory of Will being rolled out on a covered stretcher. With his emotions in check he looked back to find Hermione and the headmaster peering curiously at him.

"You must forgive an old man, I believe I've extended this farewell quite long enough," Dumbledore said, standing and brushing some non-existent lint off his lap. "Good night to the both of you."

After the headmaster made his exit, Harry and Hermione looked at each other uncomfortably for a moment before the latter climbed into her own bed. She didn't lay down, however. "Thank you, Harry," she said, her voice quaking slightly.

He tried to shrug it off. "It's nothing—"

"It's not nothing," she argued, "not to me...especially not to me." She paused then, biting her bottom lip. "I-I've never had a friend like you. I mean, I've never had really had friends at all. But for you to do what you did..." Her voice faltered then, and she looked away.

Harry knew she had started crying again, and he didn't know what to say. The uncomfortable feeling was clawing its way back into his consciousness, so he had to picture Will again. He flashed back to a rusted swingset, a light breeze, and his shoes tracing deep crevices as a strange older teen introduced himself. That feeling, somebody caring about him, was strange enough. But here was a girl who needed him, just like he had needed Will. And if he was honest with himself, he needed her as well. Both of those facts – that interdependence – frightened him even more than the troll, when he thought about it.

"_That's what real friends do. For people like us, Harry, friends are _everything_."_

He didn't understand back when Will said that – not completely – but he did now. "I haven't had many friends either," he said shakily, looking away himself.

A shuffling of sheets caused him to look over just as a head of bushy hair pressed itself into his chest, freezing him in place when she sobbed. Tracey had been slowly getting him acclimated to physical contact with occasional light touches on his arms and shoulders, but this...the tears that had been threatening all this time started to flow, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Almost unconsciously he gave in, melting into her embrace and ceasing to care about the tears.

* * *

As promised, Professor Dumbledore clinked his nearly empty glass of orange juice the next morning as soon as Harry and Hermione had entered the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other with wide eyes and darted to their respective tables. "Attention, students. I know you're all very curious about the events of yesterday evening, so I thought to dispel the rumors with the truth. As Professor Quirrell announced at the feast..." He trailed off and gestured at the perpetually nervous Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who merely nodded once and bowed his head so low that his face was nearly in his food. "A troll entered the castle some time yesterday afternoon. It was discovered on the second floor and disabled by Mr. Harry Potter of Slytherin House, in his attempt to reach his friend in Gryffindor who had missed the announcement."

Whispers exploded around the Hall, prominently featuring 'Harry Potter' and 'first year' and often accompanied by looks filled with varying degrees of awe and fear.

"To Harry Potter," Dumbledore called to reestablish order, "I award forty points, for outstanding bravery and skill in the face of grave danger." The Slytherin table burst into applause around Harry, turning his face thoroughly red. He didn't look up to see who all had joined in, and he was quite relieved when the headmaster turned the spotlight elsewhere. "Further, I award ten points to both Harry and Neville Longbottom for overcoming House rivalries out of concern for their mutual friend." This time the reaction was mainly one of surprise. The first years were almost all aware of the unexpected friendships between their classmates, but only a few outside their year knew. The Weasley Twins held back nothing in their praise, leading the applause and congratulations for their stunned Housemate. Harry spotted Ron's red face, jaw agape as he stared at Neville with the same mix of emotions that he gave Harry.

"Well done, Potter," an older boy said, giving him a nod from across the table. Harry didn't have a chance to reach his usual spot, so he was near the middle of the table. "Pucey," he said in introduction, "Adrian Pucey, third year."

"Nice to meet you, Pucey," Harry said, glancing surreptitiously at the people around the other boy. None of them met Harry's eyes. His eyes went back to the third year to find he had turned his attention elsewhere as well. Oh well, baby steps.

"Yes, well done, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom, well done," Professor Dumbledore continued. "I hope their friendship serves as an example for the rest of you; we may be in different Houses, but in the end we all belong to the same school. We are all wizards and witches of Hogwarts, and eventually you will find that Houses mean little in the grand scheme of things. While it is true your Housemates likely share at least some of the same traits and interests, don't discount those from other Houses. You never know where you'll find yourself a true friend." He glanced at the Gryffindor table then, and even though Harry couldn't see her, he was certain Dumbledore was smiling at Hermione with that same grandfatherly smile. "Thank you."

* * *

The black-robed, plain-looking wizard could scarcely believe the reports coming out of Hogwarts, but at this point it seemed incontrovertible. "How many?"

"Five other sources, all corroborating the first," the finely dressed woman replied smoothly, as always unruffled by the wizard's latest disguise. It was a game he liked to play, disguising himself as any number of perfectly nondescript people in an effort to throw off his agents. Depressingly, they rarely commented more than once.

He knew she wouldn't have come to him with anything less than certainty, but he smiled slightly at her answer. He didn't need _that_ much of it. "Isn't that a bit overkill?"

The statuesque brunette scoffed. "They all reported it independently within two days of each other, so it had nothing to do with me. But at this point I've never been so certain about something so hard to believe."

He leaned forward in his chair, knitting his fingers together. The matter was personal for her, and even though he knew she'd be fine, he had to ask. "And how do you feel about this development?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not affecting my work," she said evenly, crossing her arms as if he'd dare suggest otherwise. "We knew this could happen, and even then they're still young. The influence of the boy's home life is obvious, unfortunately."

The man smiled at her understatement. "I don't have much hope for him. But the other...you will keep an ear to the ground?"

"As if you need to ask," the woman scoffed, uncrossing her arms and walking away.

* * *

A/N:

Mystery characters are mysterious.

Also, my main characters pass out and wake up in the hospital wing a lot.

I was tempted to have Harry go full badass and jump on the troll's back and kill it, just because. But I wanted to show the transition between his reliance on his knife to his wand, and then reflect a similar evolution in his relationships.

Leave me a note, let me know what you think! We're going to start skipping ahead soon...


	4. Lesson 04: Altruism

Disclaimer: I'm still trying to form a close relationship with J.K. Rowling with absolutely no designs toward ownership of the Harry Potter universe, but flattery via fanfiction disclaimers that nobody appears to read (damn you!) isn't helping as much as I'd hoped.

* * *

**Harry Silvertongue**

**Lesson Four: Altruism**

* * *

"_Of course nobody helped you before, because there was nothing in it for them. There's a selfish reason behind everything that anybody else does_."

"_What about you helping me_?"

"_I told you the first day I met you, didn't I? My sister would have been quite unhappy with me if I didn't try to help you out. I'm doing this so she would feel proud of me. And it makes me feel...better. You see? Everybody's in it for something, Harry. Everybody."_

* * *

Harry was annoyed. Too many people, including Tracey, would talk about Quidditch way too often, though at least Daphne remained just as aloof from that as she did with anything else. Still, Tracey dragged the trio out to the Gryffindor versus Slytherin season opener at the beginning of November. Harry spotted Hermione reading in the Gryffindor stands, and he wished he'd thought of that, too. At least, that is, until the match started.

Then he found himself entranced by the smooth flying of the Gryffindor chasers, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell. The keepers, Oliver Wood and Miles Bletchley for Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectively, were less interesting. Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole were enormous and hit the bludgers hard, but they didn't seem to have any strategy. Conversely Harry was impressed by how Weasley Twins made up for their smaller size with teamwork at the beater positions. They'd set up on opposite sides of a target – usually the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint – and make him almost useless. Flint was dirty, though, and he'd often fly alongside one of the Gryffindor chasers to both try to hit them himself and try to make the bludgers hit them. Graham Montague, whom Harry recognized but had never spoken to, joined Flint and Adrian Pucey at the chaser positions. The three didn't fly as well overall as the Gryffindor girls, but with so much attention on Flint, Pucey had ample scoring opportunities. Wood was a fantastic keeper, though, and blocked more shots than his own chasers even took. The only way Slytherin could score, it seemed, was when Flint or the beaters distracted the Gryffindor keeper.

The seekers, Cormac McClaggen for Gryffindor and Terry Higgs for Slytherin, were pretty much invisible. They just flew in high circles, searching for the snitch. Harry actually spotted it twice in the first hour, but neither of them went for it. It was a long, rough, low-scoring game, and play had to be stopped on several occasions to assess penalties. Harry wondered at the Gryffindor chasers' ability to stay aloft after some of the bludger hits they took. Finally, after nearly three hours, Higgs charged McLaggen, who merely turned toward his opponent instead of assuming Higgs had seen the snitch. In a rather anticlimactic ending to the epic match, the Slytherin seeker swiped the snitch out of the air in a matter of seconds, putting their team on top 240 to 110. Harry thought it seemed quite unfair to the rest of the team that catching the snitch gave Slytherin so many points, since the seekers spent most of the game flying in slow circles while their teammates battled it out.

"You're hooked," Tracey said on their way back to the castle, her eyes alight with excitement. She had screamed in delight when Higgs held up the snitch, and jumped up to hug Daphne and then Harry.

Harry's heart was still beating so fast that he had hugged her back without a second thought. "Am not," he argued, though he slowed down a bit to hide his face from Daphne. He was sure he was blushing at that moment.

Daphne snorted but said nothing.

"Yeah, right," Tracey said for her, grinning wickedly. "It's in your blood, after all."

Harry froze at that. "What?"

"Yeah..." She trailed off and stopped a moment after him, her grin fading. "Your father used to play for Gryffindor. Chaser. His name's on the Quidditch Cup trophy for 1973 and 1975."

Harry's face blanked, eyes going distant.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." He shook himself back to the present find Tracey peering back at him with a rather pitiful expression.

He put on what he hoped to be a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Tr—" he began, but his breath left him as he was squeezed into another hug. He forced himself to relax and return it, though he was rather uncomfortable. "It's okay, really."

Daphne sighed loudly. "You two finished yet? It's cold out here."

The two jumped apart quickly. "Sorry, Daph," Tracey said. She nudged the other girl as they resumed their walk. "It's not _that_ cold," she muttered.

* * *

The rest of the year passed too slowly for Harry's tastes. To try and prove to Daphne that he didn't care that much about Quidditch, he claimed he didn't want to go to the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match the following weekend. To prove that he did, Daphne said she did want to go. Outnumbered, he sighed dramatically and relented. He brought a book, but it was soon forgotten, and she wore a triumphant smirk every time he looked at her for the next week. He finally confided in them that he was planning to try out for Quidditch next year. Tracey squealed with excitement and hugged him. Daphne rolled her eyes and accused them of ruining her fun.

In class, the glacial pace of learning useful things frustrated him; when he asked Professor McGonagall if they'd learn more general Transfiguration magic instead of spells with specific incantations he'd only received an icy glare in return. Charms had picked up a bit, as Flitwick began teaching them animation. Not that he could have animated that suit of armor anytime soon, because apparently making citrus fruit dance a very particular jig is way easier than general animation. Why that particular act had a distinct incantation, Harry had no idea.

Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed to be a misnomer: they mainly studied so-called dark creatures, even though most the things they studied could be defended against by simply walking briskly in the opposite direction. In Professor Quirrell's defense, though, they did learn how to give someone a runny nose. It would have been quite boring if Harry's scar didn't burn in pain so often in there. As a result he was second in their year only to Hermione, who apparently seemed physically incapable of not paying attention in class, even in History of Magic...well, according to Neville, anyway.

That was another thing: Hermione had been avoiding him ever since their overnight stay in the hospital wing. Well, not really avoiding him so much as...not acting like he expected she would. They still sat together in Potions and spoke regularly, but never about that night. To make it even more awkward, on one particular occasion their hands had briefly touched and she jerked her hand away as if it burned her. He normally didn't like being touched either, but Hermione had _hugged_ him. She had hugged him, and he had actually relaxed into it, and he was starting to get used to them, and...maybe even like them! But now...well, her behavior made him feel self-conscious all over again. Daphne and Tracey were no help either; the former simply rolled her eyes and ignored his question, while the latter just said Hermione was being a stupid Gryffindor. He didn't want to ask Neville for the same reason he didn't want to ask the girl in question: he didn't want her to know. It had taken enough time to work up the courage to ask the girls in his own House, and that went quite poorly.

He decided he would just be annoyed with the whole situation, and at Hermione especially, even though he would never confront her about it. If he was curt with her, well, that was her fault.

At Christmas he received his first real presents that he could remember. Of course he had taken the order forms to get gifts for his friends – books for Hermione and Daphne and candy for Tracey and Neville – but it still came as a very happy surprise to find a small pile at the foot of his bed. Unfortunately all of his friends had gone home, but despite how close he had grown to Tracey and Daphne and how much time they spent together, the lack of company didn't bother him at all. It was infinitely better than his prison at Privet Drive, after all, and that wasn't even considering the fact that he could practice magic at Hogwarts. It was further improved by his gifts, including a book on magical creatures with a note from Hermione pointing out the troll he'd defeated and thanking him profusely once again. From Tracey he received a book on Quidditch with a note saying that she'd love to help him pick out a broom and other gear for whatever position he wanted, and that she thought he'd make a great chaser or seeker. Harry chuckled at the thought that that was a nice way of saying he was too scrawny to play beater or keeper. He also got a fancy quill set from Daphne and a wide variety of candy from Neville.

But the most mysterious and, Harry admitted, the best gift was the invisibility cloak from nobody, which he quickly used to explore the restricted section in the Library. Not that he really needed the spell books there – he was still combing the fourth year Defense text, which was when Hogwarts began teaching spells he might have used against the troll. He certainly wasn't going to rely on luck the next time around, after all. But with the Cloak, he could sneak a peek at what books they thought he shouldn't read, so of course he did.

Unfortunately Hagrid spotted Harry when he was on his way to the Forbidden Forest to practice some of those spells, and inwardly he cursed his lack of foresight. First, he'd wanted to avoid causing damage to furniture so an empty classroom was out. Secondly, he didn't want to rely on being invisible too heavily and so kept the almost weightless heirloom in his heavy, visible cloak. But luckily the man had believed Harry's story about coming to the hut for a visit. It turned out Hagrid had a great number of stories of Harry's parents, so the two ended up spending hours together.

"Yeh know, Harry, I woulda invited yeh down earlier, hones'," Hagrid said when Harry finally stood to leave the first night. "I jus' thought, after tha' visit ter Diagon Alley..."

"It's fine, Hagrid," Harry said reassuringly. He knew Hagrid was embarrassed and concerned for what he had said about Slytherin back then. He must have figured Harry would end up in Gryffindor, because the large man had had little good to say about any other House. "No hard feelings, really."

"And after wha' Professor Dumbledore said 'bout yeh...well, yeh're a good lad. It don' matter ter me tha' yeh're a Slytherin, and I know it wouldn'ta mattered ter yer parents, neither."

Harry ducked his head and felt his cheeks burn. He found himself having trouble hiding his emotions around the man. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"Oh, don' mention it," the man said, waving his hands and clearly sharing in the discomfort. "Hogwarts is pretty empty righ' 'bout now, why don' yeh come on back down whenever yeh feel like it? I can whip up summat fer lunch if yeh get tired o' the Elves cookin'."

"I don't think I'll get tired of that for awhile, but I'll be happy to come back down tomorrow," Harry said. Hagrid beamed.

So the Christmas break went: Harry exploring both with and without his invisibility cloak, visiting Hagrid, and visiting the library. Ron was around, as were the Twins, but the former avoided Harry and the latter always seemed to have their heads together as if the rest of the world didn't exist. The other students present were all older and seemed to stick to their study groups, and unsurprisingly many of them were comprised of students from different Houses, just as Dumbledore had mentioned back on Halloween.

Well, except for one particular Ravenclaw who sat well apart from the others. He appeared quite a bit older – sixth or seventh year, perhaps – and mumbled to himself and scribbled furiously in a notebook on occasion. He was extremely unremarkable as far as looks go; Harry knew he wouldn't have remembered the guy's face if he'd been in a crowd, and he was of average height so he wouldn't have stood out. His relatively short brown hair fell lazily atop his head, his school uniform was clean and fit well but was not particularly tidy. It held no prefect badge. So the only unusual characteristic was his behavior. Harry had taken a seat at the Slytherin table near the strange boy during several meals, but the guy had always spoken too low for Harry to hear. He tried to catch the other boy's attention on several occasions, but he never looked up except for one time: when one of the Professors stopped to talk to him. Harry wished he'd been sitting nearer that day.

Then, on the last day of the break, the Ravenclaw unexpectedly approached Harry at breakfast, sitting across the Slytherin table. "Hello," he said without any hint of shyness.

It threw Harry for a loop. "H-hi, er, I'm—"

"Harry Potter," the older boy finished for him. His voice was relatively high-pitched and came out as fast as Hermione's at her most excitable. "First year Slytherin, future Head of House Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, troll slayer," his voice came out haltingly, very quickly yet abruptly punctuated by pauses. He breathed in through his nose deeply as if smelling something. "Disappeared for many years. Arrived here uncomfortable with fame, unheeding of tradition...unexpected."

"Some traditions are outdated," Harry said wryly, suppressing all manner of emotions. Mostly it was confusion at the rather strange behavior that overcame the others. "And I did not kill the troll."

"Would have, though, yes?" The other boy tilted his head questioningly. "Heard the headmaster stopped you just in time."

"How did you—?"

"Neville Longbottom, first year Gryffindor, future Head of House Longbottom, also lost parents ten years ago, very nervous, poor student because of it," the Ravenclaw ticked off in the same halting sentences. "Friend of Slytherin but not unexpected: Longbottom, Potter—" He took a deep breath through his nose again. "—always friends. But I digress. Weasley Twins got the story from him, spread it. Embellished it, though."

Harry was completely thrown off by this guy for so many reasons, not the least of which being he knew about Harry's parents. "Who are you?"

The Ravenclaw frowned. "Forgive me, forgot you've only been here for a three months. Didn't complete initial analysis of full student population myself until end of first year. Didn't do sixth years until April. Martin. Martin Centaurus." Martin gave Harry a quick nod instead of reaching across the table to shake hands.

"What, er...why are you here?" Harry mentally kicked himself for that question. He'd just been trying to fill the sudden silence. "I mean, not many people stay here over the break..."

"My parents are dead, too. Died thirteen years, three months ago." Martin used the same mechanical voice as before, then took a deep breath. "Very sad," he added, not sounding like it was.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, unsure of what else to say.

Martin shrugged. "Not your fault. Not Voldemort either. Found out later they worked at the Department of Mysteries. Likely joining them myself after NEWTs, maybe find out about parents research. Help, maybe, if I have time."

Harry's eyebrows jumped at that. "You want to continue your parents research even though it's probably what killed them?"

"Minor interest," Martin said, waving it off. "Curiosity only, unless it coincides with my own research." He pulled out and spread a roll of parchment that made Harry's eyes glaze over. "Arithmantic deconstruction of _Fidelius_ Charm," he said, gesturing to a section filled with curious numbers and letters. "Emotion-based like the Patronus Charm and the Unforgivables, except it requires trust."

"Trust isn't an emotion," Harry said, brows furrowed.

"Yes! Yes! Exactly!" Martin pointed and waggled his finger excitedly. "Requires emotion that trust engenders. No word in English. Love, maybe, but not between lovers. Not familial love, either. More like...the feeling associated with camaraderie. Safety, perhaps, or contentedness... All imperfect. Impossible to quantify. Need to leave abstract." He pointed to the bottom of the the parchment, which contained a long string of symbols and numbers. "Investigating replacements for certain effects – enchanted objects that manipulate the mind on touch. To encourage the feeling of camaraderie as a first, easier step. To temporarily hold the secret. To split the mind so that one person can perform each piece on his own." He pointed to other sections with different equations to the right of the first ones as he described them.

It sounded slightly scary, but Harry knew so little about magic. So, utterly lost, he merely nodded along until Martin had completed summarizing his parchment. "Why?" He blurted.

"Why? Think of the potential! _Fidelius_ Charm requires caster, Secret Keeper, subject, all separate people. Requires subject's complete trust, _complete_ trust! Too rare, too many paths to failure. Your parents trusted the wrong person. Longbottoms not under Fidelius, possibly failed due to lack of trust. But _this_, eventually this might skip the caster and Secret Keeper! Sell kits with enchanted objects. Everybody under Fidelius, _everybody_ safer." He pounded his fist several times, and Harry was blown away by how passionate Martin was about this. Then he shrugged. "Make money, too. Fund more research."

Harry almost laughed at the dismissal of wealth, but Will's words echoed in his head.

"_Everybody's in it for something, Harry_," he'd said. "_Everybody._"

Harry mentally shook off the advice. It rang hollow the first time, and it rang hollow this time as well. "Incredible. What class is this for?"

"Class?" The older Ravenclaw looked offended at first and started rolling up the parchment. "Not for class, although I may be able to get some credit in Charms or Arithmancy, now that you mention it." As he stowed his research he looked thoughtful before finally shaking his head and waving it off. "Class not important, though."

Harry let out an amused breath. "Don't let Hermione hear you say that."

"Hermione Granger, first year Gryffindor, Muggleborn, unpopular due to enthusiasm for learning, competitive behavior, and pushing her study habits on others." Martin halted his mechanical recitation to scratch his chin. "Better suited to Ravenclaw, perhaps. Nearly troll victim, saved by Harry Potter, probable Life Debt. Friend to Slytherins along with Longbottom as a result." Martin drew in a sharp breath, then pulled out a tiny notebook and scribbled inside. "No. Not result, friends _before_ troll, doesn't make sense otherwise, yes?"

"Yes," Harry said. It was rather odd hearing about himself like that, but he decided it wouldn't hurt anything to set Martin straight. He'd obviously continue building dossiers on everyone anyway. "Hermione and I met on the train and maintained contact despite being in different Houses." Suddenly a thought struck him. "Actually, what can you tell me about Life Debts?"

"Very little, very mys—" Suddenly Martin's eyes bugged out of his head. "May I study yours?"

* * *

With the distraction provided by returning students, Harry was able to slip out to the forest to practice. He timed it such that he was leaving under the cover of his new invisibility cloak as the students made their way in. He could have sworn Dumbledore looked right at him, but nobody raised any alarms. By the time he slipped past Hagrid's hut, Harry figured he was home free.

He found a small oval-shaped pool of water just far enough inside the Forest that anything he'd do would be well-hidden. It appeared to be fed by a stream that snaked its way through the wood, coming from the opposite direction of the castle. Judging by the depth of the pond, Harry supposed it somehow connected to the Black Lake as well. It was perfect for the spells he had in mind. After all, the Reductor Curse, Blasting Curse, and Severing Charm are not exactly dorm-friendly spells.

Not wanting to reveal himself completely in case he needed to hide quickly, he stuck his right arm out of the cloak, wand at the ready. "_Reducto_!"

Nothing.

Frowning, he reviewed what he thought he knew about it; the wand motion, the incantation, the effect. He wished he had the book with him now, just to verify. He tried twice more with different inflections and emphases in the incantation to no avail, but on the third try, he produced a small blue light that struck the surface of the pool like a small pebble. He was so excited by it that his next effort was a dud, but he managed to make it a little stronger with his next three tries. Still nothing that would hurt a troll, he thought, even if it was meant for use against a hostile creature. He turned toward a tree with a thick, dead branch maybe ten feet up.

"_Reducto_!" The roiling blue ball of energy dug a fist-sized gouge out of the rotting wood, spraying out splinters and moss.

So the Reductor Curse works best with heavy consonant sounds, spoken slowly...for him, at least, and that might only be for right now. He made a note to ask Hermione about this. No, Martin would know better, Harry corrected himself; Hermione would say the textbook is infallible.

It turned out the Blasting Curse was the same way in terms of enunciation, and even though Harry got it faster, he couldn't get as much of an effect. The Severing Charm also required speaking slowly, but it worked better without overemphasizing the D's in "_diffindo_." Since he was already out here, he figured he'd also try the Stunner and Shield Charm as well. He cursed under his breath when he found that the Stunner worked best speaking quickly. Keeping these things straight would be incredibly annoying. His annoyance was short lived, however, when his Shield Charm leapt into existence – a shimmering, pulsing sphere of blue that, to Harry, hummed with power. It dimmed when his intense focus dropped away, but he didn't care. He reached out to touch it.

"A most impressive Shield Charm, Mr. Potter." Headmaster Dumbledore seemed to shimmer into existence right in Harry's line of sight. "Most impressive indeed." The wizened old man's favorite purple robes fluttered in the gust of wind that seemed to radiate from Harry's hastily dropped Shield.

Reassured by the familiar grandfatherly smile, Harry relaxed from his rigid, ready-for-flight stance. "I'm sorry sir," he said quickly. "I wanted to practice some Defense spells so I won't be so helpless next time, and I didn't want to damage anything in any of the classrooms."

Dumbledore's smile faltered, but at least he didn't seem angry. "I rather hope you'll not encounter such a situation again anytime soon, but I can hardly blame you for wanting to be prepared." He walked over to the tree branch, bent down and picked up some of the debris scattered by Harry's Reductor Curses. "Was this your first time casting these spells?"

"It was," Harry said slowly.

"Remarkable," Dumbledore almost inaudibly, rubbing his hands clean and standing. "I appreciate your desire to avoid collateral damage, but you should know that the classroom walls are warded to absorb such spells. In addition, the desks and other furniture can easily be repaired." He smiled at Harry. "I assure you our fourth years test our abilities in this quite thoroughly."

Harry flushed with embarrassment. That should have been obvious; he'd never seen or even heard of students being escorted outside to practice magic before. Care of Magical Creatures and Flying are the only outdoor lessons, and Herbology requires walking out to the greenhouses. "I'm sorry headmaster, I should have realized that."

"No need to apologize for that, Mr. Potter, the staff would have informed you once you covered a spell that caused the need for such protection." The headmaster's grandfatherly smile faded. "However, I need not reiterate that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden, and for good reason, too. I fear I must take ten points from Slytherin for being out of bounds. Be further warned, however, that a second offense will not be punished so lightly."

Harry's eyes dropped to the ground as his cheeks burned. How that man could make Harry feel so low with such softly spoken words, he had no idea.

"Now that we are past such unpleasantness, ten points to Slytherin for such a magnificent Shield Charm." Harry's head jerked up in surprise to see a pair of twinkling blue eyes just before the headmaster turned back toward the castle. "Now come along, Mr. Potter, I daresay your friends will be rather interested in your holiday." Harry began to follow only to freeze when he realized he was still under his cloak. Dumbledore had seen right through it! But he hadn't said anything about it... "Mr. Potter?" Amusement was plain in his voice.

"You...sent me this, didn't you?" Harry realized it just as he started speaking.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Dumbledore said, smiling broadly. "But I do trust that you won't need to come out here – or to any of the other places forbidden to students – to practice anymore, yes?"

Harry smiled broadly: the headmaster had pretty much just given him carte blanche to use the cloak within the castle. At least, that was the interpretation he would stick with until otherwise informed. "Right."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" Hermione asked again.

"Of course not," Harry replied smoothly, grinning at the fact that he changed his answer this time. "Why else would I be asking?"

She glared at him, and Neville, walking beside her shook his head with a small smile. "Well, can we trust him?" This was also a repeat question.

Harry sighed. "It's not even a matter of trust. I'm telling you, Hermione, he _already knows_."

"Ah ha!" She snapped her fingers. "So you _have_ already spoken to him about it."

"No," Harry said, sighing. "Why don't you just trust me on this? You're going to see in a moment anyway."

"But what if he doesn't know? We could get in trouble!"

"Granger," Daphne said, surprising Harry that she would step into the argument from the other side of Tracey. Normally the aloof Slytherin girl's contributions were limited to snorts or scoffing sounds. "Do you really think you're the only ones that went to see what Dumbledore was talking about?"

Hermione's eyes bulged. "We didn't do it on purpose—"

"If you say so," Daphne teased. Harry almost laughed at the indignant huff – predictable banter between his two friends whose personalities seemed so diametrically opposed to one another. "But seriously, you had to have heard rumors in your common room: people claiming to have gone to see what it is themselves."

Hermione ducked her head. "No...not really."

"If you say so," Daphne said again, grinning since the other girl wasn't looking.

"Harry," Tracey said, finally moving on from shooting Hermione dark looks, "how did you get a sixth year to agree to meet with us, anyway?"

"I met him over the break," he hedged, resolutely not looking at Hermione as he said it. "He said he'd be in the unused classroom where we're headed anyway. He called it 'his classroom.'"

"How can he have his own classroom?" Hermione sounded scandalized, and more than a little jealous.

"Er, he explained it kind of fast," Harry said, "but what I got out of it was that most Ravenclaws are more interested in theory, but the few that are more interested in experimentation generally have their own place to do it. Supposedly he got his classroom from another Ravenclaw who graduated."

"That's not fair," she grumbled.

Harry considered asking her exactly what she'd do with her own classroom, but he figured they'd teased her enough as it was. It was too easy, and Tracey could get a little catty if they pushed too far. Thankfully, they had just about arrived, so he didn't have to change the subject. Just as he was about to knock, the door swung open very quickly to reveal a disheveled-looking Martin Centaurus. Behind him was a small room – smaller than any of the normally used classrooms – and it was full of...junk, Harry guessed he'd call it. On one side he thought he recognized a bunch of clearly outdated and broken Muggle electronics, and on the other, things that looked more like the odd magical devices in the headmaster's office. In a moment he realized that they were all just disassembled, and judging by the layer of dust on some of them, Harry figured that some of these had been around since at least the previous 'owner' of this room.

"Potter, Granger, come in, come in," the odd Ravenclaw said quickly, then spun around and walked to what appeared to be a recently cleared out space that had been out of sight behind the older boy. It was neatly partitioned right down the center, and an unsteady-looking table with various whizzing and whirring instruments and messy stacks of parchment stood in front of it.

"Harry, why did he only greet the two of us?" Hermione whispered in the hope that the sixth year wouldn't hear her.

Harry cleared his throat and ignored her. "Hello, Martin. I'm sure you recognize my companions—"

"Greengrass, Davis, Longbottom, yes," Martin said distractedly, tapping several of the instruments with his wand. A small trunk off to one side of the cleared space jumped, causing several of the first years to jump as well. He looked up at the trunk, back at the first years, then whipped out his little notebook that Harry recognized as the one Martin pulled out when he asked questions about Hermione the first time they'd met. "Daphne Greengrass, daughter of Cyril Greengrass, voting member on the Wizengamot and Hogwarts Board of Governors, rare Potion ingredient supplier, yes?"

Daphne was taken aback and breathed in as if to say something.

"Greengrass, Davis – friends before Hogwarts," Martin continued, stroked his chin for a moment as if trying to remember something, then shook his head. "Friends of Gryffindors, unexpected, unlikely if not for Harry Potter. Unpopular with stereotypical Slytherins."

"What are you trying to say?" Daphne's voice was tight, Harry thought it was clear she was only barely reigning her temper.

He cocked his head back. "Nothing, observations only. Could be wrong. Typical Slytherins not really cunning, not really ambitious. Bully younger students, stick to groups of similar-minded people. More like Hufflepuffs, in that respect."

"_What_?" Tracey screeched in protest.

"Not important, not important," Martin waved it off. "Wasting time. Potter, over here, please, Granger, this side, yes?" He gestured for them to stand on separate sides of the flexible, tan-colored, wood-and-cloth partition, which was tall enough that they wouldn't be able to see one another.

"Wh-what's going on, Harry?"

Martin really could have been a little more circumspect about this, Harry thought with a cringe. He cleared his throat. "Just a little experiment," he said.

"_What_?" Hermione squeaked. "What kind of experiment?"

"Life Debts," Martin answered, "ancient magic, not well understood. Unwilling test subjects, you see. You want to learn more about it, yes? Advantages, Disadvantages, limitations, adaptations, all uncertain. Wish we had more to study, but have to settle for one." He eyed the other first years thoughtfully. "Could use more than one control group, though."

The other three first years backed up uncertainly, even though Harry was fairly certain they didn't know what Martin was talking about.

"Harry," Hermione said in a partially worried, partially angry voice.

Harry started to sweat a bit. Oh, he could deflect Hermione's anger – he was an expert at that, but in truth he was nervous about these experiments. It occurred to him now that he probably should have asked after some details before agreeing. "Er, Martin, can we talk about our questions first?"

Martin hummed in thought. "Oh, yes, yes, shouldn't take long, yes?"

"Er, right, well," Harry said, trying to gather his thoughts on how to approach this. "Do you remember Dumbledore's opening speech?"

Martin sucked in a deep breath, then started speaking in a deep voice not unlike the headmaster. "'_Welcome, welcome to new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin—_

"Yes," Harry said, cutting him off and holding in laughter at the rather dramatic impression. "We heard some rumors about the part where he talked about the third floor corridor—"

"The traps, yes," Martin said, nodding.

"Traps?" Harry asked and glanced at Hermione with a slightly smug expression. Her face colored.

"Yes, yes, I've seen the Cerberus and Devil's Snare myself, but I wasn't interested in trying to go further."

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

Martin held out his hands like a scale. "Have my own challenges, known rewards," he said, holding one hand higher than the other, "why would I risk unknown danger for an uncertain reward?"

She flushed, and Harry knew it was because she considered exploring under the trapdoor. She didn't let up. "But what if somebody is trying to steal whatever it is?"

The older Ravenclaw shrugged. "Seems logical, considering the traps. From what I've heard they seem to be designed to let the thief in, but not out. The object must not be too dangerous to be hidden in a school."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed several times before she slumped, looking down at the floor and sighing heavily in defeat. Harry smothered the urge to grin broadly; he'd shown that others knew, and now she wasn't going to press the matter. "I-is this a common occurrence, then?"

"Not to my knowledge," Martin said. "But then, it never occurred to me to ask. Now, come, come. Granger, Potter, pick a side. Doesn't matter which one; switch later." He shuffled them to the partition over Hermione's protestations and despite quizzical looks from the other three first years. Harry deliberately did not meet Hermione's eyes as he chose a spot. Martin then directed Neville, Daphne, and Tracey behind a different partition such that they were out of Harry's sight. Then he bustled back to his spot at the table. "Now, you can't see each other, and I'll put up a barrier so you can't hear each other. Then we'll begin."

Martin scratched out some hasty notes, then tapped one of the mechanisms on the table with his wand and it became deathly quiet. The sensation of deafness unsettled Harry so acutely that he took a step out before Martin held up a sign that indicated the first test was about to start. Harry forced himself to relax as the older boy gestured with his wand in Hermione's direction. A short moment later, she bolted toward the door while he frowned and jabbed his wand in the same direction. With a frown, Harry dashed out until he could hear the others, just in time to hear the door slam behind Hermione. "What—?"

His question died in his throat as he found Daphne trying to hide her laughter, Tracey not hiding it at all, and Neville looking rather red in the face before dashing out after his fellow Gryffindor. Martin was scratching away, shaking his head. "Should probably have started with Cheering Charm..."

Hermione didn't speak to Harry for a long time after that.

* * *

"Hello, Quirinus," the serene voice of Albus Dumbledore cut through the tense silence deep in the heart of Hogwarts.

Quirrell spun around and immediately put up his usual mask of incompetence and fear. "A-Alb—"

"And Tom, of course," Dumbledore cut him off.

"Ah," Quirrell said after recovering from a moment of shock. His voice lost the stutter but not the fear. "You know, then."

"Frankly, I'm surprised you gave me nearly an entire year," Dumbledore replied with a hint of amusement. "My efforts to locate and retain a Defense Professor have been rather ineffectual, you see."

"You play a dangerous game with the lives of your students, old man," a slightly muffled voice rasped from underneath Quirrell's turban. The Defense Professor's eyes widened in shock, then he turned and unwrapped his turban.

If the headmaster was perturbed by the sight of Voldemort's face – stretched and cracked like old parchment over the back of Quirrell's head – he didn't show it. His slight smile froze when Voldemort had mentioned the students' lives, though. "Indeed, I fully expected to move against you far sooner. Imagine my delight when the most you could bring to bear was a troll that a mere first year could defeat and a baby dragon that did no more damage than the last time Hagrid left the tea on. No luck with the Chamber of Secrets this time, Tom?"

Voldemort hissed. "That is a betrayal I intend to punish most severely when I regain my form!"

"Ah, a pity, I'm sure," Dumbledore said with a smile. "So, did you find my particular trap to your liking? I added it as soon as the first student broke through the others to find the mysterious red stone that they couldn't seem to remove. We wouldn't them to fail to spread the rumor around, now would we?"

Voldemort's teeth clenched into a furious snarl. "Enough! Kill him, you fool!"

A blast of harsh red light enveloped Quirrell before he could so much as turn around, and he slumped to the floor bonelessly. Moments later, inky black mist seeped from under his head and out from the openings in his robe. His skin paled, then grayed and seemed to stretch. Then it cracked and crumbled, leaving nothing but a pile of ash only slightly lighter than the stone floor on which it lay. The mist spread so thin that it seemed completely dissipated.

"You will never kill me, old man." Voldemort's whisper seemed to come from every direction, like an echo with no source.

"No, I will never kill you, Tom," Dumbledore agreed in a subdued voice. "But once again I must remind you: there are far worse things to face than death."

* * *

A/N:

A new character! Bonus points if you know what character inspired Martin, though it's probably quite obvious if you know the source material. Double bonus points if you get the reasoning behind his full name.

Skipping along... I know there's the whole "show, don't tell" thing, but if I show everything, this story will be way too long. I'm trying to hit the important and/or fun stuff, though.

Let me know what you think!


	5. Lesson 05: Reflections

Disclaimer: I've tried to extol the virtues of altruism to JK Rowling in regards to her copyright of Harry Potter, but my argument was ruined when she realized that, if given the chance, her legacy would be driven into the ground by fanfic authors like me.

Note: a couple reviewers pointed out how awful of a cliché Dumbledore sounded like at the end of the last chapter. That wasn't my intention (Dumbledore does not believe that Voldemort can be redeemed), so I changed the last line. Check it out, if you like.

* * *

**Harry Silvertongue**

**Lesson Five: Reflections**

* * *

_"Every once in a long while my father sobers up. It's always an accident, and maybe one time out of ten, he doesn't blame me for hiding his booze. So maybe once a year or so, he's actually a somewhat decent human being, and he'll talk about my mother without being drunk off his ass. I learned very quickly not to mess those times up."_

* * *

Harry absently watched the bright green countryside as it rolled past the window of his compartment, pondering the year's events. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione sitting across from him doing the same. He had coaxed her back in to see Martin with sincere apologies and assurances that no more boggarts would be involved in the Life Debt experiments, but they had not found any usable or even detectable link between the two. Of course she refused to try to attack Harry, so even that piece of lore went untested. Still, she had proven to be a valuable friend, even if she had become a little overbearing about revising for year-end exams. He found the irony amusing: the one among them who least needed to study was the same one who did the most of it.

Tracey, though, had not found it amusing at all. Harry glanced over to see her leaning against Daphne's shoulder, snoring softly. Apparently the most talkative Slytherin of the three had gotten tired of talking about their plans for the summer and trying to coax Harry's out of him. He mentally grimaced at the thought. He'd gained some measure of self-confidence over the year, but he'd have to revert to hiding it well. The dread he felt as the end of the term approached helped, and he didn't correct his friends when they mistook it for anxiety over the exams. He probably should have, though, since it was yet another point of tension between her and Hermione.

Daphne took her impromptu occupation as a pillow in stride, the only sound from her direction coming from the turn of a page of her book. She, at least, seemed to get on well enough with the polarizing Gryffindor...or perhaps merely felt resigned to her presence. Despite being well behind her in terms of overall rankings, as the second highest in their little group and a fellow voracious reader, Daphne had been able to stave off redundant library sessions by promising to make her fellow Slytherins revise appropriately once back in their common room. Before their nap she had engaged Neville in what was for him a rather awkward conversation about his Gran, though her face twitched in what Harry recognized as annoyance when the nervous boy knew very little about her role in the Wizengamot and the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

Neville was, perhaps unsurprisingly, as quiet in his slumber as he was when awake. What was surprising was that he felt comfortable enough to sleep in their present company. He was a steadfast friend, but Daphne and Tracey seemed to delight in reducing him to stutters and blushes. It might have been mean-spirited at first, but his low self-esteem 'took all the fun out of it,' Tracey claimed. Harry smiled at the memory of the time he turned the tables on her, causing her to blush when he sincerely claimed that she was nicer to him than most of the people in his own House. Martin had mentioned the history between the Potters and Longbottoms, but Neville actually knew quite a bit about it. They were even distantly related, it seemed, sharing a common ancestor in the former Hogwarts Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. Harry had been amazed and hopeful at that revelation, and immediately began hatching a plan to ingratiate himself with the formidable-sounding Gran, at least until Neville further explained that Harry was actually much more closely related to Draco Malfoy. Suddenly the idea of moving in with his nearest magical cousin hadn't seemed like such a good idea.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, wrenching him out of his reminiscence. Daphne looked up as well, though Neville and Tracey continued sleeping. "You will...you will write this summer, won't you?" Daphne rolled her eyes and returned to her book.

He smiled at her. "I said I would, didn't I? I told Hedwig to stay out of sight so she won't be locked up with me all summer. She'll be happy to carry letters for us, I'm sure."

"I know," she said uncertainly, "but I wasn't very nice to you after...you tried to help figure out what was going on with us."

"Ah," Harry said, fighting embarrassment, "if I'd known he was going to bring a boggart..."

"But hey, we learned a spell we wouldn't have otherwise learned, didn't we?" Hermione countered with a forced smile. Harry was thankful she left out the fact that they didn't learn it until much later...once she had finally forgiven Martin for making her live through an imitation of a very angry Professor McGonagall loudly dispensing rather unfavorable judgments of the studious Gryffindor's intelligence and work ethic before expelling her. "And besides," she continued, "I wasn't very nice to you after the troll incident, either."

"So we both made mistakes, right? I mean, I know all of my other friends are perfect—" he began.

"You got that right," Daphne interjected in a shamelessly smug voice.

"—but I'm pretty sure we can stay friends despite that," he finished. After the words came out of his mouth, he reflected on the fact that he still felt rather good about his friendship with Hermione now, even though she actually avoided him for a good portion of the year, and he'd been confused and hurt because of it. Well, he'd been confused at her behavior until it was his fault, anyway.

In contrast, he felt like something had changed in his memory of Will. His advice had at first seemed like some absolute, unassailable wisdom. But Harry had found himself disagreeing with it on occasion and relying on it less and less these days. Then it hit him: Will had been trying to share observations and conclusions based his own experience, but that didn't mean Harry's would be the same. Will never had the opportunity to leave his entire world behind. Sure, Harry had faced a different set of challenges with his sudden fame, but the change had been overwhelmingly positive.

* * *

Harry was having the worst summer ever. Okay, it only _seemed_ that way in comparison to the school year, he admitted to himself. He should have been used to it, but after a week, then two without hearing from Hermione, he knew something was wrong. By the time his twelfth birthday rolled around, he thought it might be his memory that was wrong. Hedwig grew increasingly agitated when she'd return empty-handed – or empty-clawed, rather – so Harry quit writing. He received no indication that his friends expected differently.

His relatives had largely left him to his own devices. It seemed he didn't have to try very hard to follow Tracey's parting suggestion on the platform at King's Cross: letting his relatives believe he could use magic at home. The corner of his mouth drew upward as he recalled how Neville gasped, Tracey stuck her tongue out at Hermione's dirty look, Daphne laughed...

Harry sighed, forcing the thoughts of the people he had considered his friends out of his mind and went back to his weeding. The effort to do it correctly wasn't little enough that he could let his mind wander, so he tried to imagine he was just in Herbology, listening to Professor Sprout's instructions. Lightly dig down to the root, grasp firmly but not sharply, pull slowly and steadily.

It didn't work. He didn't care for Herbology anyway.

"You missed one," Aunt Petunia said just when he'd finished.

Her voice wasn't annoyed or angry, so Harry said nothing. He quickly pulled the one her thin, bony finger pointed out and added it to the garbage bag, then looked up for his next task. He was surprised to see her dressed in sort of a fancy, bright, flowery dress and matching sun hat.

"Go clean up," she said, "then meet me in Dud—the spare bedroom."

Harry's eyebrows raised at the fact that she changed her mind when she started to call it Dudley's second bedroom, but he dashed off into the house before she could change her mind again.

"Your uncle has a very important business meeting tonight," she said after he'd quickly showered and dressed. "So you are to stay here, and _stay quiet_. If this goes well, you may stay in this room for the remainder of the summer."

He nodded and kept his eyes downcast, not daring to show his surprise or excitement. It could have been a trick, Harry thought, if she wasn't acting so bizarrely. Surely her anxiety over this meeting couldn't be the only reason for actually providing a reasonably-sized bedroom for the first time. Sure, it was filled with broken toys and electronics, but already he was trying to figure out what he might do with so much space.

Just then the doorbell rang, and without a word she turned on her heel and left the room. No sooner had she closed the door when a small, reedy, pointy-eared creature materialized on Harry's bed, peering at him with large green eyes. His skin was tinted slightly redder than normal human skin, as if his entire body had a light sunburn.

Harry jumped in surprise and only barely held back a yelp. _Was this creature why Aunt Petunia was acting so odd?_ "What—who are you?" Harry took a step back with his right foot and turned to the side to mask the fact that his hand was inching toward his wand. He never let it out of his sight, after all, even in the shower.

"Dobby is a House Elf, Harry Potter, sir—"

"How do you know my name?" The question must have come out harsher than Harry intended, because the fragile-looking thing cowered pathetically.

"Everybody is knowing Harry Potter's name, sir! Dobby is just—"

"Okay, okay," Harry said, cutting off the creature's squeaking, "just keep it down, will you?"

"Yes, yes!" Dobby said, still squeaking loudly. "Dobby just came to warn Harry Potter...Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts. He must stay where he is safe! If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

Harry blinked at that. "What mortal danger?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter," Dobby said uncertainly. "A plot to—"

"You'll need to be more specific than that, Dobby," Harry said impatiently, but Dobby only started making loud choking sounds, then started bashing his head on the bedpost. "No, no, stop, stop," Harry said frantically. After the sounds subsided he strained to hear any indication that they'd heard downstairs, but he heard nothing. He sighed in relief. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts—"

"Yeah, I got that part," Harry said wryly. "So, I just give you my word and you'll be happy?"

Dobby's eyes widened. "Yes! Yes, Harry Potter gives his word, and Dobby gives Harry Potter his birthday presents and other letters from his friends, and Dobby will be very happy indeed!"

It took a moment for Harry to recover from the shock, but a spike of red-hot fury made him grip his wand so hard that his knuckles turned white. With some difficulty he fought down the urge to hex this creature into oblivion; it helped that he had no inkling of the creature's abilities. "Very well," Harry ground out, then coughed to cover up the anger that had seeped into his voice. "I give you my word. May I have the letters, now?"

Dobby beamed, apparently unaware of the close call. "Of course, Harry Potter, sir!" He snapped his fingers and a bundle of letters appeared in his hand, along with a number of small packages wrapped like birthday presents strewn about the bed. "Thank you for—"

Harry tuned the little creature out at the feeling of elation rising in his chest. He hadn't imagined the previous year after all! He barely even noticed Dobby snap his fingers and fade away as he tore into the pile of letters, presents nearly forgotten on his new bed.

* * *

"Harry, it's so good to see you!" Hermione said, wrapping Harry in a solid hug right there in the driveway at Privet Drive, right in front of her parents and probably the Dursleys as well. He felt relieved enough to see a friendly face that it didn't occur to him right away to be embarrassed by that. "Sorry we're early, Mum and Dad thought they might have a chat with your relatives before we left, swap stories about finding out about the – about _our _world that is, and seeing Diagon Alley and...where are your robes? I suppose you don't need them quite yet, but of course I've had mine on since this morning, and..."

"Hello, Hermione," he said with a laugh, his voice brighter than he intended despite the shudder-inducing thought of the Grangers bringing up the m-word in front of the Dursleys. He felt his face heat at the amused smiles her parents wore upon witnessing the reunion. Hermione's father was a very kind-looking man with thick, mostly gray hair, sharp, light brown eyes, a slightly turned-up nose, and a small but bright white smile – just like Harry would expect from a dentist. The gray hair didn't make him look old; the skin around his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, but other than that he looked...refined, Harry supposed.

The resemblance between Hermione and her father was mostly limited to the eyes and nose, but looking at her mother was like a glimpse into the future. She had the same brown hair, though hers was actually done up prettily, as opposed to her daughter's usual bushy tangle. Their faces were shaped the same and shared many of the same features, and they both had thin but fairly wide-shouldered builds. Mrs. Granger's eyes may have been a darker brown, but they held the same soft and friendly gaze.

Harry also thought Hermione looked different in the nearly three months since he'd seen her. She was more tan, of course, but other than that he couldn't really place it. She smiled just as brightly as usual as Harry shook hands with her father and her mother. "Well, shall we go meet your relatives?" She glanced toward the house meaningfully.

"I...er, don't think that's a good idea," Harry said slowly, trying to avoid showing how avidly he did not want that to happen. "They're...busy," he added. "Sorry, I should have mentioned that earlier."

"Aren't your relatives even going to see you off?" Mrs. Granger asked.

Harry almost snorted. "No," he said instead, but he realized that probably sounded rude. "They already said their goodbyes. Sorry..."

"Oh, no need to apologize, Harry," Mr. Granger said, sharing a look with his wife and then directing it toward the house. They'd shut off their rather nice-looking sedan, and Harry felt bad since he felt like he was being rude, but he consoled himself that it would be much worse if he subjected them to the Dursleys' idea of hospitality for anything related to magic. Hermione's father turned back and smiled genially. "Right, shall we away, then?"

Harry picked up his fraying, faded blue, hand-me-down backpack containing his robes and nodded eagerly, not wanting his uncle to come out and change his mind. His relatives had actually been in a good mood for the past week; apparently Vernon's meeting had been a success since they'd gone out to eat a number of times since then, leaving Harry alone at home. He'd even cooked dinner for himself once, making one of the best meals he had ever eaten at Privet Drive. Vernon had barely even batted an eyelash when Harry asked if he could go get his school supplies with his friend and her 'normal' parents. Of course he didn't mention that they would be meeting up with Neville and his Gran at the Leaky Cauldron. He had arranged it like that to minimize his relatives' objections, and because Tracey and Daphne had already made plans...not to mention the latter had sent him a somewhat unfriendly letter when he never replied to her first two, which he quickly attempted to rectify with profuse apologies.

Hermione chattered excitedly almost nonstop in the car. Of course, she'd done all her homework months ago, and she heaped on gushing praise when Harry lied about finishing his as well. He was close enough that it wasn't _that_ serious of a lie...all he had to do was say he put his History of Magic essay out of his mind as soon as he'd finished it, when in reality he hadn't even started. Then he simply distracted her by talking about his favorite subject: Transfiguration. With stern taskmaster Professor McGonagall in charge, it wasn't his favorite _class_, but he could easily see that it was the most useful subject in the curriculum.

On the contrary, Hermione thought that Charms deserved that title. The debate lasted all the way to the Granger's doorstep, much to the amusement of Hermione's parents.

"Hermione," Mr. Granger interrupted finally, "would you like to give Harry a tour while we wait? We aren't supposed to meet the Longbottoms for nearly two hours."

Harry shuddered at the thought of these kind, unassuming people spending that much time with the Dursleys. They seemed perfectly content to let Hermione talk the entire way home, not even bothering to ask him questions about himself. For a moment he wondered why, until he realized that, at this rate, Hermione could have reenacted every conversation she had with Harry over the past year. They probably knew as much about him as she did.

"Of course, daddy," she replied, then her eyes lit up. "Come on, Harry, I'll show you my room!"

"A boy in your room at twelve, Hermione?" Her mother smiled mischievously, and Harry had to reevaluate his previous thought about them looking so much alike. He'd never seen that expression on Hermione's face! "Well, I never!"

Hermione sputtered and blushed heavily at her parents' laughter, and Harry couldn't help but laugh along even if it came out a bit nervously. "Mother," she whined.

"I'm just teasing, honey," she said, still smiling widely. "Do you two want some sandwiches while we wait?"

The contrast between this and the Dursleys couldn't be more drastic, Harry thought. He smile faded as he felt a familiar, uncomfortable burning sensation behind his eyes as he realized it was the first bit of food in months that someone else was going to prepare for him. "That would be brilliant, thank you," he said, quickly turning away so they wouldn't see.

* * *

"—Harry?"

Only at the sound of his name did Harry realize that Hermione had been speaking to him. He'd been engrossed in his book: what Hermione called a short high fantasy novel entitled _The Book of Three_, which she'd recommended as a 'nice, quick' read – though Harry raised an eyebrow after finding it had just over two hundred pages – after a quick tour of the Granger home. Harry thought their house was about the same size as the Dursleys except for the extra bedroom-turned-office where Harry had changed into his robes and a separate formal dining room in addition to the smaller kitchen table. Hermione had explained during the tour that her parents considered having more children, but they were worried by the accidental magic. Harry thought it was quite unfair that the Grangers had to wait so long to find out about accidental magic. "Hmm?"

"I said," Hermione began with mock exasperation, "sorry, this must be terribly boring—"

"Not at all," Harry interjected. He really was enjoying the book; he'd been startled to realize he never finished his sandwich and he was already on page eighty. Eilonwy had just freed Taran and they'd just stumbled out of the underground passage with a magical sword from some old lord's barrow underneath Spiral Castle. It made Harry wonder what secrets lay under Hogwarts.

Hermione gave him an embarrassed smile. "Still, I should have asked if you wanted to play chess or...whatever those card games are that Neville sometimes plays with Dean and Seamus. We don't have the wizarding versions or anything, but..."

Harry laughed. "Really, Hermione, I don't mind this at all. Daphne and I do this all the time in the common room. Well, not reading stuff like this, of course," he said, holding up the book, "and it only lasts until Tracey makes us do something more social together. But I like it."

She smiled brightly and opened her mouth to respond, but a call from downstairs interrupted her. Then she gasped lightly as she glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. "I didn't realize we'd been up here so long! Ready to go?"

"Sure!" He stood, stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth when she had her back turned, and followed her out.

Harry and the Grangers piled back into the car, and Harry was grateful that they didn't tease him and Hermione any further. In fact, they just beamed at him in much the same way their daughter did earlier. The drive to Charing Cross Road was a short one, but filled with a same one-sided conversation as the trip to the Grangers. Harry inwardly chuckled at whatever Hermione's odd, apparent personality quirk was that made her want to talk while traveling. Perhaps she got motion sickness if she didn't distract herself with words.

"Neville!" Hermione called, drawing the eye of every patron in the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't seem to notice, however, she just dashed over to their table near the door and pulled the hapless boy into a quick hug. "Sorry we're a bit late, Harry and I were over at my house and we lost track of time reading, and then my father had such a horrid time finding a place to park—"

Neville's grandmother cleared her throat loudly, at which time Hermione promptly cut off her breathless monologue and flushed with embarrassment.

Neville stood and cleared his throat then, and it seemed like he had sprouted a bit over the summer, Harry noted with a small pang of jealousy. "Gran, these are my friends Hermione Granger and...Harry Potter," Neville said formally, adding the last quietly, for which Harry was grateful. "Harry, Hermione, my grandmother, Madam Augusta Longbottom."

"Pleased to meet you, Madam Longbottom," Harry said with a small bow, trying to match the formality of the situation. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, but at least the heat from the Longbottom Matriarch's gaze no longer seared him. Poor Hermione, on the other hand, was beet red. She spluttered out a similar introduction for her parents, who themselves looked embarrassed to be meeting Neville's Gran. Anxious to be away from the awkwardness, Harry quickly said, "I'm curious to see what the deal is with all these Lockhart books; anybody up for Flourish and Blotts?"

Relieved for the interruption, Hermione quickly took to the idea and made her escape with Harry, tugging he and Neville along with her toward the back door and leaving the adults to follow. Unfortunately, they only made it as far as the entrance to Diagon Alley just out the back door before they hit their first snag: opening it.

"I know the pattern, but I don't know if it will violate the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery," Hermione said.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, though he should have known. He'd been through this way once, but he certainly couldn't remember which bricks Hagrid had tapped over a year earlier. "Well, I say you give it a try," Harry said with a grin.

His grin turned into a laugh as her face went through a range of emotions, from anxiety to a sort of sneaky consideration and back. "No," she finally decided, "we had better wait for Madam Longbottom to catch up."

"Yeah, you don't want Gran angry at you," Neville said quietly, glancing back at the door to make sure said woman wasn't with them yet. Harry noted the shudders his companions gave. Madam Longbottom made Professor McGonagall's disposition seem downright sunny by comparison. The adults emerged from the Leaky Cauldron, and the students fell silent as they made their way to Flourish & Blotts.

No sooner had they entered when they ran into a big crowd of people blocking any path into the stacks. Hermione whimpered softly, causing Harry to chuckle. His amusement was short-lived, however, when she grabbed Harry's and Neville's hands and started weaving through even the smallest gaps. Neville's face turned as beet red as his own as they started stammering out a rapid string of apologies for jostling everybody in their attempts to keep up.

"It can't be...Harry Potter!" Harry froze at the deep, theatrical voice and then felt himself jerked in a new direction. "Ladies and Gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is..." Harry froze at being the center of so much attention, barely hearing the pompous man who eventually revealed himself to be the very same Gilderoy Lockhart that wrote all of their Defense textbooks for the year...all of which were promptly shoved into Harry's arms just as the man proclaimed, "yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

That must have been Harry's cue to slip away, because he was quickly nudged out of the way as Lockhart waved his arms to his adoring crowd. A gap opened up close to where Harry had lost his friends, so he was able to escape unscathed. Once he reached the edge of the crowd, however, neither Hermione nor Neville were in sight, and neither were their guardians. As the crowd pinched together to form lines to get their books signed, a pair of redheads stumbled into view and froze when they saw Harry.

Harry nodded at Ron and then looked at what must have been his little sister, trying to remember her name from when he told Harry on the train almost a year earlier.

At Ron's continued silence, his sister elbowed him in the ribs. Harry almost chuckled at the mutual glare and silent conversation, which Ron apparently lost. "Er, hi P—Harry?" It came out as a half-question, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to call Harry by his first name.

"Ron," Harry said, nodding once again.

"Right," he said, gulping audibly. "Er, this is my sister, Ginny, you remember me telling you about her?"

"I do," Harry said, giving Ginny a smile, at which she blushed crimson. "Starting Hogwarts this year, aren't you?"

"Y-yes," she stammered, then opened her mouth to say something else.

"Famous Harry Potter," a familiar voice drawled, "can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page, can you?"

"Perhaps you've forgotten, Malfoy," Harry said with a small smile, deliberately not nodding to him, "but I recall going quite unnoticed in Madam Malkin's last year."

Draco's face reddened at that, and Ginny giggled. "What's this, Potter? Got yourself a girlfriend?" He looked her up and down with visible distaste. "Obviously a Weasley...well, there's no accounting for taste."

Both Weasleys flushed red with anger instead of embarrassment, and Ron dropped his books in Ginny's cauldron and started toward the obnoxious Slytherin.

"Ron, there you are," an older man with thinning red hair pushed through the crowd with Fred and George in tow. "It's a bit crowded in here, what say we let your mother finish up in here and go outside?"

Before he could answer, yet another voice drawled from the other direction. "Well, well, well, if it isn't...Arthur Weasley." Harry turned to find an aged reflection of Draco with longer platinum blonde hair – obviously Draco's father – staring down his nose at the other man.

"Lucius," Arthur said, eyes narrowed.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Lucius said, "I do hope they're paying you overtime?" He bent over and picked up an old, battered copy of what Harry recognized as their Transfiguration textbook. "Obviously not," the long, blonde-haired man muttered. "What's the point in being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Arthur flushed in anger as well, which made Lucius smirk slightly. Harry wondered if every relationship in Hogwarts simply continued from the behavior of the students' parents. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he retorted. At the clever inflection and carefully chosen words, Harry's eyebrows went up along with his estimation of Mr. Weasley.

"Clearly," said Lucius, his eyes drawn toward Hermione and Neville, who were now approaching with her parents. Luckily his Gran was nowhere in sight; she probably stuck near the entrance to direct her disappointed stare at all of the people gathered for autographs. Arthur saw them as well, and took in the clearly Muggle clothing of the Grangers. "The company you keep, Weasley...and I thought your family could sink no lower."

Harry stumbled back into Ginny and dropped his newly acquired Lockhart books as Arthur launched himself at Lucius, shoving him roughly back toward the bookshelves behind, which promptly collapsed and sent a cascade of heavy tomes down on their heads. Harry's estimation of Mr. Weasley fell back down, though he tried to allow for the fact that there must be quite a bit of history between these two. Still, to allow yourself to be goaded like that...

"All righ', break it up there, gents, break it up!" Hagrid joined the fray and picked each wizard up with one massive hand and set them apart. Draco quickly rushed to his father's side with a glare toward Arthur, while most of the Weasley clan were congratulating their father.

Lucius brushed off his shoulders and smoothed his hair, trying to act like he hadn't just been brawling like a child. "Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you..."

Harry immediately spotted the bulge in the middle of the book as Lucius approached him and Ginny to shove it into her cauldron. Harry quickly intercepted it and held it up so hopefully nobody else saw the smaller book inside. A little leverage over Draco and his father would do quite nicely. "What's this?" He raised an eyebrow at the obvious spike of fear before Lucius affected the same forced indifference his son used on multiple occasions with Harry.

"A ratty, old second-hand book, just as one would expect to find in the hands of a Weasley," Lucius said haughtily. "Come, Draco, before their kind further defile us with their presence."

Harry watched, frowning in confusion, as the older man dragged his son quickly out of the bookshop without any books of their own.

* * *

For once, Harry hadn't terribly dreaded his return to Privet Drive. Some part of him wished Hermione had pushed a little harder to get her parents to agree with her invitation to stay the night – he would hardly pass up a chance to escape his relatives – but he was also anxious for _this_.

He sat on his bed and stared at the small black book he'd removed from Ginny's copy of the Transfiguration textbook, trying to figure out why Lucius Malfoy, a grown wizard, was so frightened of it. Harry's finger had accidentally brushed it as it fell into his pocket, so he knew it wasn't dangerous to touch. He couldn't use his wand to poke and prod at it, but he didn't have the first idea what spells he might use on it anyway. Only the gold-embossed name of T. M. Riddle adorned the cover, and all the pages were blank.

Still, despite its appearance as an empty diary, he didn't like the feeling he got from it. Obviously Malfoy was scared of it, so that must have been the source of Harry's own unease about it. This sort of thing was so far out of his realm of experience that he couldn't think of a single piece of Will's advice that might apply. He took a deep breath and dug a quill and ink out of last year's school supplies. _Hello, _he scratched out, _my name is Harry Potter._

He paused, thinking how he might use the diary, but before he could come up with a plan, he started as the ink started to fade from the page. Then, suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed him right behind the eyes, sending him crashing to the floor in surprise and fright. Taking a few moments to try to massage his headache away without success, he quickly stood, kicked the diary shut, then buried it as deep in his school trunk as he could. No amount of massaging chased the away the pain.

And no amount of pain chased away the desire to write in it again.

* * *

A/N:

This one fought me quite a bit, and the distraction of my other projects didn't help on that front. Hopefully it didn't come out too boring. I still like Will's chapterly insights, but you'll note that Harry doesn't actively think about that advice this time (though here it applies to Petunia not being horrible for once). For now I'm thinking that this compromise will continue in future chapters.

I've been reading Lloyd Alexander's _The Chronicles of Prydain_ as a kind of research for some original urban fantasy fiction stuff I'm writing. The first book in that series, _The Book of Three_, is nice and short, and I think I was even younger than Harry is here the last time I read it. So it seemed like a pretty good recommendation for him. There aren't many obvious parallels between Hogwarts and Spiral Castle except for the secret chambers under both of them, so I had to have Harry read far enough to get to that part.

Lucius Malfoy is not described in canon as having long blonde hair, but Jason Isaacs (the actor who played the part) suggested it and they ran with it. Now I have trouble picturing him any other way.

Let me know what you think!


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